He's Leaving Home
by Pinky Brown
Summary: Eleven-year old Ron Weasley is off to school in a week and he's excited and terrified in equal measures. It doesn't help that every single member of his family keeps trying to give him advice, and that his sister keeps hiding his shoes...
1. Chapter 1: Monday: Molly

**He's Leaving Home**

Eleven-year old Ron Weasley is off to school in a week and he's excited and terrified in equal measures. It doesn't help that every single member of his family keeps trying to give him advice, and that his sister keeps hiding his shoes...

_Author's Note:_

_Because I wanted to write something short and sweet for a change! This will be 8 chapters long, counting down the last seven days before Ron departs for Hogwarts. I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know what you think!_

_Pb x_

* * *

**Chapter One: Monday (Molly)**

"Mum! _Mu-um!"_

"Don't _shout_, dear. I'm not deaf. Not _yet,_ anyway…"

"Where are my shoes?"

"Exactly where you left them, I should imagine."

"I've looked everywhere!"

"Have you looked under your bed?"

"Yeah, that was the first place I looked!"

"And?"

"They're not there!"

A few moments later Ron came thundering down the stairs and bounded into the kitchen where his mother was washing up the breakfast things. "It's Ginny," he announced, breathlessly. "She's hidden my shoes again!"

"Don't be silly, dear. Why would she do that?"

"I don't know!" he wailed. "She's being all weird at the moment. Can you ask her where she's hidden them?"

"You've got a _tongue_, haven't you?"

"She won't speak to me. If _you_ ask her -"

"I'm sure your sister has better things to do than hide your shoes, Ronald. You've probably just forgotten where you left them."

"No, I haven't, they were under my bed, and I can't go to Diagon Alley without my shoes!"

"Who's going to Diagon Alley?"

He blinked. "I thought _we_ were. To get my new wand."

Molly pulled her hands out of the washing up bowl and wiped them on her apron. "No, _I'm_ going, with Percy, to get his new schoolbooks and Fred and George's new cauldrons. It'll be done much quicker without you lot under my feet. Bill can keep an eye on you, once he gets out of bed."

"But... I wanted to choose it _myself..._"

"Choose what, dear?"

"My wand!"

"You don't need a new wand -"

"Of course I do; I can't go to school without a _wand!_"

"Yes, dear, I know. That's what I'm trying to _tell_ you, if you'd just let me finish… we've already _got _you a wand."

"You've already _bought_ it?" he exclaimed, practically bouncing up and down in his excitement. "Can I see it? Is it in the shed? What wood did you get? Did you buy it in Ollivander's?"

Molly sighed. She hated having to disappoint him, but there was no way around it. "Look… Charlie bought himself a new wand when he started his new job, so you're having his old one. Alright?"

"I'm not getting a _new_ one?" he howled.

"It's a perfectly good wand!"

"It's _Charlie's_ wand!"

"Oh, don't be silly, there's absolutely nothing wrong with it -"

"Well, if there's nothing _wrong_ with it," he shouted, "How come _Charlie _doesn't want it?"

His mother's patience finally snapped. "Don't raise your voice to me, please. Wands are expensive, and I am certainly not going to waste money on a brand new one when there's a perfectly good one not being used. Now run along, please, I've got a lot of work to do this morning."

Ron stared at her, aghast. He had been really excited about finally getting a wand of his own. It was supposed to be a really important moment for all witches and wizards, a rite of passage, Dad had said. As if it wasn't bad enough that he was going to have to turn up on his first day of school dressed in second-hand robes, now he had to use a second-hand _wand_ too. _Great_.

He heaved a defeated sigh. "Can I see it, then?"

"No. It's dangerous to play around with wands until you know what you're doing. You'll get it on Monday morning before you leave."

_"Monday?" _he cried. "That's _ages_ away!"

"It's next week," she reminded him gently. As though he needed reminding! "You can wait a week, can't you?"

"But... won't I need to practice?"

"_No_. And I don't _want_ you practicing, either. Not until you're safely at school. Wands are not _toys_."

"I know that, I only want to _see_ it. I won't try and do a spell or anything. You don't even have to take it out of the box," he added hopefully.

She sighed. "The answer's _no_, Ronnie. How many times?"

He looked so despondent that she pulled him into her chest for a hug (much harder to do now that he was taller than her) and patted his hair. Ron extricated himself hurriedly from her embrace, looking appalled.

"_Mu-um!_ Get off!"

"I tell you what," she said placatingly, "Why don't you sit down and help me peel the potatoes for dinner? We can have a nice little chat, just the two of us."

Her son's face assumed a pained expression. "Do I _have_ to?"

"No," she smiled, "You don't _have_ to. But the quicker we get these peeled, the less time you'll have to wait for dinner. It's shepherd's pie tonight. You love shepherd's pie."

Ron hesitated. He did love shepherd's pie. "Okay," he sighed, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the kitchen table opposite his mother. She pushed the bowl of potatoes and spare peeler across to him and for several minutes they sat there peeling potatoes in silence.

"Mum?" he asked, eventually.

"Yes, dear?"

"Did everyone _else_ get a new wand? Bill and Percy and..."

"Yes," she admitted carefully, "But only because this is the first time we've had a spare. Bill tends to break them, and Percy, Fred and George are all still using theirs."

"So Ginny will get a new one as well?" he asked indignantly.

Her apologetic little shrug said all he needed to know.

_"Great!" _

"Oh, Ronnie, I'm sorry, but it's not deliberate, honestly it's not. That's just the way things work out. We all have to make sacrifices, you know. I can't buy Percy all the books he needs either, and Ginny needs new shoes, and you know we're saving up to go and see Charlie in Romania..."

"It's alright, Mum," he mumbled guiltily, "I don't mind really."

She smiled, leaned across and patted him on the head. "You're a good boy, Ronnie."

He winced. "Mum?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Can you call me Ron? Instead of Ronnie, I mean."

His mother looked rather hurt. "What's wrong with Ronnie? I've always called you Ronnie, ever since you were a baby."

He shrugged. That was sort of the _point_. "Nothing. I just... prefer Ron, that's all."

"Alright, well, I can't promise anything, but I'll try." She leaned back in her chair and surveyed him with a slightly wistful smile. "_Sooo_... this time next week you'll be on the train to school! Are you excited?"

Ron's stomach gave a queasy little lurch. "Sort of," he said faintly.

"Oh, you'll be fine! There's nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worried!"

"Because it's perfectly normal to be worried, you know -"

"I'm _not!"_

"Of course you're not. You're my brave little soldier, aren't you?" She chuckled. "Not so little anymore though, eh? Well, just make sure you don't grow out of any more of your clothes, or break anything, because you won't be getting anything new until next summer."

Ron silently shelved his idea of "accidentally" breaking Charlie's rubbish old wand by, say, throwing it down a mountain. Sometimes he wondered if his mother could actually read his mind.

"I'll try not to grow any taller," he grinned.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Very funny. And that reminds me..."

_Uh-oh_, thought Ron, his smile fading. It sounded like she was gearing up for one of her long rants. And sure enough...

"Don't answer back to the teachers. And don't be cheeky to the prefects, either; they're there for your own good. And make sure you have a bath at least twice a week and always on a Sunday night. And make sure you brush your teeth twice a day. _Properly_, mind, don't just push a bit of toothpaste around your mouth and think that'll do. And don't stay up too late or you'll be too tired to concentrate properly in your lessons. And eat proper meals and not just cakes and biscuits. And write to your father and me; we don't expect a letter _every_ week, but we'd like to know how you're doing, and we don't want to hear about it second hand from Percy. And don't let Fred and George lead you astray. I know what they're like, and I don't want you going down the same path. Honestly, the number of owls I've had from the school about those two; it's more than the rest of you put together. Oh, and make sure you send your clothes to the laundry regularly. _Are you listening to me, Ronald?"_

"Yes!"

"I hope so, because this is good advice. What else? Oh, yes; work hard, and do your homework on time. And don't eat everything on the table just because it's _there_. And remember that it doesn't matter if you're not top of the class, just as long as you've done your best."

Ron made a sceptical noise in his throat. The chances of him coming top of the class in _anything _seemed incredibly unlikely. If Mum was expecting him to be another Percy, she was going to be very sorely disappointed.

"And don't pick any fights with anyone, and don't let anyone pick any fights with you. And if someone calls you a nasty name, the grown-up thing to do is to just ignore them and remember that you are _better_ than them and that to respond would just be dragging you down to their level. And if you _do_ get into trouble -"

"What sort of trouble?" asked Ron, half-intrigued, half-alarmed at the suggestion.

"Any sort," she said sternly. "If you get into any trouble, go to Percy or one of the teachers. Don't try to sort it out yourself. I don't want letters from Professor McGonagall saying you've been fighting -"

"Professor McGonagall?"

"She's the Head of Gryffindor House. You'll probably have more to do with her than you will with the Headmaster. Think of her as the Headmistress of Gryffindor. You'll share some lessons with the other Houses, but most of the time you'll be with students from your own House."

"What if I'm not in Gryffindor?"

"Don't be silly," said his mother briskly, "Of _course_ you'll be in Gryffindor. Weasleys are _always_ in Gryffindor."

"But what if I'm _not?" _he persisted.

His mother just chuckled and shook her head as if to say he was being ridiculous.

"Were Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian in Gryffindor?"

"Yes, they were," she smiled. "So I had older brothers to look after me when I started school, just like you will."

Ron made a face. He rather suspected that Fred and George's idea of "looking after" wasn't the same as Fabian and Gideon's. And that his mum's brothers hadn't once tricked her into eating _worms_, like Fred and George had done to him. Actually, he wasn't at all convinced that having three older brothers at school would be any sort of advantage. Maybe if _Charlie_ was still there, he thought wistfully. But he'd left school in June and was off in Romania studying dragons. Charlie would be a good person to have around if Ron got into any _trouble_.

"Now," his mother went on, "This is very important. Some of the older boys might try to get you to smoke a cigarette. You don't want to get on the wrong side of people like that, so the best thing is probably just to have one little puff and then they should leave you alone. Just one little puff, mind. Because if I find out you've been smoking, Ronald Weasley, I _will_ kill you. Now, how are you getting on with those potatoes?"

Still slightly thrown by the idea that bigger boys might tie him down and force him to smoke cigarettes, Ron glanced dazedly down at the single badly-peeled potato on the table in front of him and gave a helpless shrug.

"Alright."

"Good," she beamed, climbing heavily to her feet. "Well, you carry on with those, and I'll take a cup of tea up to Bill."

Ron's mind was racing with all this new information. She made it sound like the older boys considered it their mission to make life hell for the new kids. Fred and George were only third years, so they were hardly going to stand up for their brother against some massive seventh year who took a dislike to him. And Percy would be less than useless. What was he going to do, _read_ at them?

Molly watched him over the teapot. He looked anxious, and she wondered if she'd said too much.

"There's really nothing to worry about, you know," she reassured him.

"I know."

"And if you really hate it, there's only fifteen weeks 'til Christmas. Not that long at all, really..."

Ron's stomach performed another sickening little lurch. _Fifteen weeks!_ It was _ages!_ Nearly four months! A quarter of a year!

"We're all going to miss you very much, you know."

"Ginny won't," he said stubbornly.

Molly waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, of course she will."

He just shrugged. "Yeah, _right. _That's why she won't even talk to me, then."

"Oh,_ Ronnie."_

She smiled, rested her hand affectionately on his shoulder for a moment, and left the room.

Her son waited until she was out of earshot, then let out a long, frustrated sigh.

"_Ron..."_

* * *

_Author's Note__: _

_Next up: it's Fred and George's turn to offer Ron some not-so-helpful advice. Hope you liked it and please let me know what you thought of Chapter One! _

_Pb x_


	2. Chapter 2: Tuesday: Fred & George

_Author's Note__: _

_Huge thanks to everyone who left a review for the first chapter. It's always a little scary, putting your new baby out there to be judged; but the response was overwhelmingly positive, so thank you. Enjoy!_

_Pb, x_

* * *

**Chapter Two: Tuesday (Fred & George)**

Ronald Weasley surveyed all of his worldly possessions laid out on his bed, and frowned. His mum had asked him to decide what he wanted to take with him to school - "I don't want to be running around in a panic on Monday morning because _you _can't find your lucky Cannons scarf!" - so he had spent the morning in his room trying to decide what to pack. Some things were definite; the aforementioned lucky Cannons scarf, and the very well-thumbed copy of _Flying with the Cannons_ that Dad had bought him for his ninth birthday. It was one of only two books he had ever read more than once (or, indeed, all the way through).

A book and a scarf, then. Not very impressive. And that was important; whatever he took it should be something his new dorm-mates - his new _friends? _- would be impressed by. Or at least, wouldn't think was stupid and laugh at.

Oh, what about his Chocolate Frog card collection? He'd been collecting them for years and some of them were pretty rare. But then, what if they got lost? Or worse, stolen? Hmm, perhaps he should leave them here for the time being. If it turned out Hogwarts had a big Chocolate Frog card swapping scene, he could always pick them up at Christmas, or ask Mum to send the best ones by owl.

His gaze fell on the dried beetle in a box that Bill had brought him from Egypt. Bill said he had found it in a mummy's tomb, but now Ron was a bit older, he was not sure he believed that anymore. Still, it was a cool thing, it might impress the other boys, and it would be something to remind him of his older brother.

So… a scarf, a book, and a beetle in a box.

Well, if he was taking his Cannons book and scarf, he should take his Cannons quill case as well. And his 1989-1990 season team poster. He could put it on the wall above his bed, so everyone would know which bed was his. Mind you, knowing his luck, he'd get stuck in a dorm full of Tornados fans. Or, he suddenly thought anxiously, _Muggleborns_. He'd never - to his knowledge, anyway - met a Muggleborn before. Did they even know what Quidditch _was? _And if not, what on earth were you supposed to _talk_ to them about?

Well, there was no point worrying about that now. Mum had told him not to come downstairs until he'd finished, and it would be lunchtime soon. He didn't want to miss lunch. What to take... what to take...

Well, there was his granddad's old wizard chess set, of course. He could take that. It might be a good way to make new friends. He could set it up in the common room, and maybe someone might see him playing on his own and ask for a game. Even Muggles played chess, Dad said. Yeah, he thought happily, thoroughly pleased with this strategy, I'll take the chess set.

What about his Martin Miggs comics? He'd _like_ to take them, but they were rather heavy and took up a lot of room. He wasn't sure how much space he'd have in his new bedroom at school. It might only be a little cupboard or something. Probably best to only take small things, at least for now. And besides, weren't comics a bit… _babyish? _

He surveyed his own belongings with a newly critical eye. So much of it suddenly looked like - well, _kids' stuff. _He frowned. This was going to be harder than he thought. It wasn't just about deciding which things you wanted to take; they had to be worthy of the new person you wanted to _be_. Quidditch and chess were OK; comics and marbles and a stuffed toy dog with its tail hanging off that he'd had since he was a baby were _not._

He picked up the top comic on the pile and glanced through it. Oh, it was the one where Martin Miggs went to a Quidditch match; that was a good one! Within moments, almost without noticing, he had sat down on the edge of the bed and started reading. He was so absorbed he didn't hear the footsteps on the stairs or the sound of muffled laughter outside his door until it was too late. The door burst open and in walked Fred and George, bored out of their minds and seeking diversion.

"Alright, Ron?" grinned Fred. "What're you up to?"

"Nothing!" said Ron, defensively.

He tried to get to his feet but they seized him by the shoulders and forced him back down again. Shoving Ron's belongings unceremoniously out of the way, Fred plonked himself down beside him and put his feet up on the chair, hemming Ron neatly into the corner.

"What's all this rubbish?" he asked, gesturing dismissively at his brother's possessions.

"It's not rubbish!" said Ron hotly.

"Looks like rubbish to me," shrugged George, leaning casually back against the desk and folding his arms.

"I'm _packing!_"

"You're a bit keen, aren't you?" said Fred. "School doesn't start for a week." He gave a theatrical shudder. "I do hope we haven't got another _Percy_ on our hands."

"Mum asked me to do it. What do you want?"

The twins raised their eyebrows at each other. "Well, that's not very nice, is it?"

"Distinctly unfriendly, I'd say."

"What do you _want?" _he repeated.

"Don't be like that, little bro'."

"Yeah, we only came to offer you some advice."

"What kind of advice?" asked Ron, warily.

"Well, you must have loads of questions you want to ask."

"About what?"

"About _Hogwarts_, stupid!"

Ron flushed. "I wouldn't ask _you_ even if I did!"

George gave a derisive laugh. "Who else are you gonna ask; _Percy?"_

"Yeah, all he's gonna tell you is to do your homework on time and suck up to the teachers."

"Yeah, he won't tell you anything useful, like where's the best place to hide if Filch is after you..."

"Or which lessons you can fall asleep in without the teacher noticing..."

"Or why you should never eat the fish pie on a Wednesday."

Ron looked uncertainly from one to the other, but they seemed to be deadly serious. There _were_ some questions he'd like to ask, but then again, it was _Fred and George_, and they never missed an opportunity to wind him up.

"Come on Ronnie," said Fred, putting an arm around Ron and squeezing his shoulder. "You can trust _us_. We're your _brothers."_

"Well…" Ron began hesitantly, "I _did_ wonder how many people I might be sharing a dorm with..."

"Usually five, but sometimes less," said George promptly. "Including you, I mean."

"And how many people in _your_ dorm?"

"Four."

Ron pondered this for a moment. The answers they'd given so far _seemed_ genuine enough. Feeling slightly more confident, he asked, "So how many new kids are there every year? I mean, it can't always be the same number…"

"Somewhere between thirty and forty, usually. Why?"

"Well, what happens if there are, say, twenty Gryffindors?"

"Never happens."

"Never?"

"Never."

"But -"

"That's right, because there are only ten spaces in each House, five for boys and five for girls."

"Yeah, and when they're full, they're full."

"Of course," said Fred, struggling to keep a straight face, "They do the test alphabetically, so…"

"So…?" Ron didn't quite get it.

Fred shrugged. "So you'll be one of the last people to take it, won't you?"

He waited a moment for his brother to catch up.

Ron's eyes widened. "But... that's not _fair! _What if all the places are filled up?"

"They'll put you in whichever House has a space, of course."

"So you could be in Hufflepuff even though you're really a Gryffindor?"

"That's right."

"Does that happen often?"

"Dunno," said Fred, "We didn't know the rules when we did the test, and last year we were, uh, _busy _during the ceremony."

"What do you mean, _busy_?" asked Ron, suspiciously.

"Well, we were in detention," grinned George.

"Poor Filch's ears have never been the same," added Fred reminiscently.

They both laughed.

"Hang on," said Ron, urgently, "What do you mean; the _test?_"

"You know; the test they give you to decide what House you're gonna be in."

Ron gaped at him. He had been wondering about that. Of _course_. A test! That made sense, how else would they decide something so important? It couldn't be as simple as just pulling your name out of a hat.

"What... what _kind_ of test?" he asked, tentatively.

George shrugged. "Just a couple of questions."

"Yeah," joined in Fred, "They ask everyone five questions and depending on how you answer, they decide which House to put you in."

Ron was starting to get those nervous butterflies in his stomach again. "But... what if I get them wrong?"

Fred and George exchanged dark looks.

"If you're not in Gryffindor," said Fred, shaking his head sadly, "Mum and Dad will be _devastated." _

"We _all _will."

There's never been a Weasley in Slytherin."

"Or a Prewett..."

"And we don't want to start now."

"Can't I just _ask_ them to let me be in Gryffindor?"

George shook his head. "That's not how it works."

"But I can't be the only person in the family not in Gryffindor!"

"Well, you'd better get the questions right then, hadn't you?"

Ron stared at them, ashen-faced. "Fred," he pleaded urgently, "George. You've got to help me. Tell me the answers!"

"We can't," they chorused together.

"Why not? I'm your brother!"

"Well, we _would_..."

"... but they change them. Every year."

"That's right," agreed Fred, "It's random. You never know what question they're going to ask. It could be _anything_," he added gleefully.

_"Anything?" _

They both nodded.

"Not… not _maths?" _asked Ron fearfully.

"Could be," said George, with a nonchalant little shrug. "Could be anything. You won't know until you get there. They asked _me_ who the Muggle Prime Minister was."

_"What?" _gasped Ron, appalled. "They ask you _Muggle_ questions?"

"Sometimes. Like we said, it could be _anything_."

"Who _is_ the Muggle Prime Minister?"

"Oh, it's a different one now," said George breezily. "I can't remember his name."

Ron felt sicker than ever. He was going to look stupid in front of the whole school. He was going to be the first member of his family to be in Slytherin.

"I can't be in Slytherin," he mumbled, half to himself, "I just _can't_."

"Still, look on the bright side," said Fred, "At least you'll avoid the traditional beating the Slytherin sixth formers give to the new Gryffindors."

Ron paled. _"What?" _

"That's right," nodded George. "They do it every year."

"Did they do it to you?"

George shook his head. "They wouldn't _dare."_

"Anyway, there's two of us," grinned Fred. "We've always got back-up."

"Not to mention that we know a lot of hexes..."

"And we're not afraid to use them!"

They both laughed.

"We were lucky, though."

"Yeah, poor Lee's still got the bruises _now_…"

Ron frowned. "They only do it to the Gryffindors?"

"Yep. There's no love lost between Gryffindor and Slytherin. They hate us and we hate them. It's just the way it's always been."

"If you're Sorted into Slytherin, Ronnie, we'll disown you."

"What does that mean?"

"We'll pretend we're not related to you."

Ron gave an uncertain little laugh. "No, you won't."

"We _will_."

"Basically, kid, if you're Sorted into Slytherin, you're on your own."

"What about Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff?" asked Ron, thinking that at least if he was Sorted into one of those Houses it would be better than being in Slytherin.

"Oh, you won't be in Ravenclaw," said George at once.

"Why not?"

"Well, only the really bright kids get put in Ravenclaw."

"That's right. So you've got no chance!"

They both laughed uproariously.

"Shut up," said Ron, reddening. "What about Hufflepuff?"

"That's where they put the thick kids."

"Yeah, so you'd better make sure you get those questions right. If you get them wrong, you'll be in Hufflepuff for sure."

Ron considered this for a moment. "But if that's _true_ -"

"It _is_ true."

"- then how come Percy isn't in Ravenclaw? He's really smart."

The twins seemed temporarily stumped for an answer.

"Well… they were _going_ to, at first…"

"Yeah, he was on the cusp of both Houses. They had to ask him an extra question, just to be sure."

Ron frowned. He wasn't sure about this at all. Or what a _cusp _was.

"But what if they still couldn't decide which House you were supposed to be in?"

"Well -" began George, but Fred shook his head warningly, as if to say "don't tell him".

"Please, Fred," begged Ron. "You've got to tell me."

"Well…" said Fred reluctantly, "They'd send you home."

"What?"

"That's right," agreed George. "Every couple of years a kid doesn't get in and they send him home. Remember poor old Frankie Matthews?"

"Oh, yeah, poor old Frankie."

"What happened to him?" asked Ron urgently.

"He was in our year -"

"_Supposed_ to be," corrected Fred, darkly.

"Supposed to?"

"Only he got all the questions wrong."

"Can you imagine?" exclaimed George, shaking his head in disbelief. "Too thick to be in Hufflepuff!"

"So they asked him another."

"And another."

"And another."

"And all in front of the _whole school!"_

"So what happened?" implored Ron.

"Well, the teachers all got together in a huddle and they called him over and spoke to him."

"And then they grabbed him by the arms and frogmarched him out of the hall. In front of _everyone."_

"He was crying, wasn't he, Fred?"

"He was. Snot streaming down his face and everything. It was disgusting."

"_Begging_ them to let him stay…"

"Poor kid."

"We never saw him again," said Fred sorrowfully.

"What happened to him?"

"Well," said George, "We're not supposed to know..."

"Yeah, it's supposed to be a secret…"

"We shouldn't even be talking to _you_ about it…"

_"Tell me!" _

"Well…" began Fred, with an air of great reluctance, "_I_ heard that sometimes they send them away to go and live with _Muggles_…"

_"Muggles?"_

"Yeah, I heard that too," nodded George, soberly.

"But what about his family?"

"Disowned him. The shame was too much for them."

"Still," said Fred, brightly, "He's lucky, really."

"Lucky?" repeated Ron, appalled.

"Well… in the fifteenth century, they'd have _drowned_ him…"

A short silence greeted this proclamation. For a moment Fred wondered if he'd gone too far. Except, of course, that you could _never_ go too far...

"Anyway!" he announced hastily, jumping to his feet, "Unless you've got any more questions, we've got things to do."

"That's right," agreed George, getting the idea and standing up too. "Places to be and all that. Laters, Ronnie!"

"George?" blurted Ron, before he could stop himself.

"Yeah?"

Ron hesitated. He was starting to regret this already. "Promise you won't take the mickey?"

The twins laughed, and George shook his head.

"Oh, no, we can't promise that."

"Yeah, we can _never_ promise that, Ronnie. Don't you know us by now?"

Ron ploughed on regardless. "It's just… can you _please_ stop calling me Ronnie? At school, I mean."

They considered this heartfelt plea for a few moments, then Fred gave an airy shrug.

"Alright."

Ron was rather taken aback. He had expected more of a fight. "Really?"

"Yeah, no problem."

"Yeah, if that's what you want, mate."

"Yeah, we'll just call you Ronniekins instead."

"Oh, _please_ don't," begged Ron, over the sound of their laughter. "This is really important to me!"

Fred just shrugged. "Sorry, Ronniekins, but it's our _job_ as your big brothers to embarrass you as much as possible."

Ron felt his face grow hot with humiliation. "Piss off, then!" he blurted.

Fred and George gasped in mock-outrage.

_"Well!"_

"I can't believe what I've just heard, George."

"It's literally unbelievable, Fred."

"Where does he pick up this stuff?"

"Not from us."

"_Definitely_ not from us."

"I'm stunned."

"I'm _sickened_."

"What would Mum say if she heard you using language like that, eh?"

"She'd think we'd taught it him, Fred."

"You're right, George. We'd get the blame. Like we _always do_..."

"I dunno, we try and help…"

"And this is all the thanks we get!"

"Well, maybe I don't _need_ your help," said Ron, hotly.

Fred and George exchanged indignant looks.

"Fine, if you're gonna be like _that_ about it..."

"Yeah, we know when we're not wanted..."

"Just don't come running to us when some massive Slytherin sixth-former tries to flush your head down the toilet, that's all."

They shook their heads as though in sorrow at his attitude and made for the door.

_"Wait!" _blurted Ron_._

The twins paused in the doorway.

"Why shouldn't you eat the fish pie on a Wednesday?"

_"Well…" _Fred gave a mirthless, hollow laugh. "Let's just say it isn't _fish.._."

* * *

_Author's note:_

_Hope you enjoyed it as much as Gred and Forge enjoyed torturing poor ickle Ronniekins._

_Next up: Percy_

_Please let me know what you thought of Chapter 2!_

_Pb x_


	3. Chapter 3: Wednesday: Charlie

_Author's Note:_

_Running a few days late this week, but I have a good excuse, honest: my wisdom teeth are coming through and it's kind of hard to concentrate on anything at all when you're on antibiotics. As a consequence of this I'm doing Charlie this week and Percy next. Writing Percy with toothache just seemed like an additional torture somehow. Anyway, here's Chapter 3, and I hope you have more fun reading it than I did writing it._

_Pinky Brown, 22nd September 2010_

* * *

**Chapter Three: Wednesday (Charlie)**

"_Ow!_ Mu-um!"

"Sorry, sweetheart," said Molly, through a mouthful of pins, "But if you can just stand still for a teensy bit longer..."

Ron let out a long sigh. Standing absolutely still on a chair for an hour was much harder than it looked, especially when every time you moved your mum stabbed you in the leg with a pin.

"Stop fidgeting!"

"I wasn't!"

"Stand _still!"_

"I _am!"_

A chuckle from the doorway made them both look up. Fred was standing there leaning on the door frame, looking highly amused by the scene before him.

"Oh, Fred, don't go away," said Molly, sounding very harassed. "Can you take a cup of tea up to your brother, please? I meant to do it myself, but…" She waved a hand at Ron. "This is taking much longer than I expected."

Fred affected outrage. "He's still in _bed?"_

Molly glared at him. "He's on _holiday_."

"_I'm_ on holiday," pointed out Fred, reasonably. "You don't let _me_ laze around in bed 'til half eleven."

"Bill _works_," she said sharply. "What are _you_ on holiday from?"

Fred just laughed and turned his attention back to his younger brother. "Nice getup, Ronniekins. Might be a tad _short_, though, don't you think?"

"Go away!" snapped Ron, firing up at the use of the hated nickname.

"Fine," said Fred, with an airy shrug. "So I suppose you don't want this letter that's just arrived for you, then?"

"What?"

Fred held up a thin white envelope. "Paper. Envelope. Writing on the front. Yep, looks like a letter to me..."

Ron stared at him, uncomprehending. "For _me?"_

"Well, it's got your name on it, so I suppose it must be." He sauntered into the room and waved the envelope tantalisingly at Ron. "Came by a very _foreign_-looking owl…"

Ron's mouth fell open. There were only two people he knew who might have sent him a _foreign_ letter, and one of them was upstairs in bed.

"From Charlie?" he asked, hardly daring believe it.

"Well, open it and you'll find out, won't you?"

He stepped down off the chair - Molly threw up her hands in a gesture of defeat - and took the letter gingerly from Fred's hands. For a few moments he just looked at it, turning it over and over in his hands in wonder. No-one had ever sent him a _letter _before.

"Well?" demanded his mother impatiently. "Aren't you going to open it?"

He looked up at her, then nodded mutely. Yes, but not here. He wanted to take it somewhere and read it on his own somewhere quiet, away from prying eyes. It was addressed to _him_, after all.

"Can I go and read it in my room?" he asked eagerly.

Molly let out a long, weary sigh. "_Fine_. We'll finish this tomorrow then. Hang on there, Speedy!" (for her son was already halfway to the door) "At least take your robes off first!"

Ron tore off his robes and almost threw them at his mother in his haste to get away and read _his_ letter. His heart hammering in his chest with excitement, he made for the stairs, then changed his mind and dodged back through the kitchen and out through the back door, where he walked as fast as he could to the very furthest end of the garden, near the pond. No-one would find him there. His hands almost shaking with anticipation, he opened the envelope - being very careful not to rip it - and started to read.

_Sender: Charlie Weasley,_

_Reserva Larice Negru,_

_Domogled,_

_Romania_

_Salut Ronnie! Ce mai faci? _

_That's Romanian for "Hello! How are you?" I'm learning fast, although it's an international team here so I can now say "step away from the dragon" in eight different languages. There are seven of us in the training programme, five blokes and two women, all from different parts of the world. All the new trainees share a dorm for the first six months, and I'm on the bottom bunk under a really crazy Russian bloke called Maxi who likes to juggle fire for fun. Takes all sorts, I suppose. Oh, it goes without saying that you shouldn't mention that to Mum. Knowing her she'll probably write to my boss and demand that I have my own private room. Mind you, I do spend the rest of my time about three feet away from a dragon, so sharing a bunk-bed with a demented fire-juggling Russian is probably the least dangerous part of my day._

_I can't believe it's been over a month since I last saw you all. I feel like I've been here forever. The work is very hard, the hours are very long, we get practically no time off, and I'm permanently knackered, but I love it. Hardly a night goes by that I don't get woken up at least twice by a grumpy dragon or Maxi accidentally standing on me whilst trying to get into bed in the dark after a few glasses of tzuica, but I'm learning so much, and best of all, I get to work with DRAGONS! How cool is that?_

Ron grinned to himself. It _was_ pretty cool.

_The main reason I'm writing is because Mum wrote and asked if I minded if you had my old wand. Well, I couldn't be more delighted, Ronnie, honestly I couldn't. It's been used and abused pretty heavily over the past seven years (as you'll probably be able to tell) but it works fine, if you don't mind a few splinters. I would have carried on using it myself, but I wanted to buy a brand new one with my first ever wage packet, kind of a symbolic thing, if you know what I mean. _

Ron's brow furrowed. If he were honest, he didn't.

_There's just something about choosing a new wand; feeling the weight and smoothness of the wood, how it balances in your hand, working out how light a touch you need, what movements to make. It's different for every wand and wizard. The right wand should feel like an extension of your own hand. Mine is Romanian larch wood, from a tree that grows less than a mile from where I am now, and it's both beautiful to look at and effortless to use. When I use it I feel like I'm really connected to the landscape, and to the vast and ancient forest around me. It's a privilege, really, to get an opportunity like this. I'm very, very lucky to be here and I know it. Maybe someday when you're a bit older you could come for a visit and see it all for yourself. I'd like that. _

The way Charlie described getting his new wand made Ron feel even more envious that he wasn't getting a new one, and wouldn't get to go through the same experience as everyone else. And Charlie had been through it _twice_. It didn't seem fair.

_I can't believe you're all grown up and going off to school next week. It seems like only yesterday that I was your age and leaving home for the first time. I don't suppose you remember it, but you were still small enough to cling to my knees when I got on the train. Not any more, eh?_

_I'm sorry I left school before you started, Ron. I would have liked to have seen you get Sorted and watch you make friends and find your own way in the world. Anyway, as you know, I'm not much of a writer - I suspect you take after me in that sense - but I just wanted to say hi, wish you luck, and give you the benefit of my wisdom (!). _

_Don't panic; I'm not going to give you a load of boring advice, mainly because I suspect you'll get enough of that from Mum and Percy. But there are a few things I've learnt (very few, my teachers would say!) over the past seven years, and you'll be delighted to hear I'm going to pass them on to you. _

_It might seem a bit overwhelming at first, but you'll get used to everything pretty quickly. Once you make friends, all that stuff you were worried about before you went will seem a lot less important. And don't worry if you get lost; even the teachers still do sometimes, and some of them have been there for half a century. So if you get lost, it's not your fault, OK? It's just the castle, having a laugh at your expense. _

_Now, this is very, very important, probably the most important thing you'll ever learn, in fact:_

_GIRLS._

_Don't pull that face!_

Ron gasped, and almost turned around to check Charlie wasn't standing right behind him. How had his brother known that was what he was doing?

_I know this might come as a bit of a shock to you, but girls are people too. I know, you're stunned, aren't you? But it's the best advice I or anyone else will ever give you; make friends with girls. You're actually pretty lucky because you've already got a head start, having a sister you actually like_

"Hah!" said Ron, very loudly.

_but if you can make friends with girls, you'll start to realise that they're not an alien species. You might even find that you have a lot in common with some of them. I know, it sounds mad, doesn't it?_

Ron giggled. It _did_ sound mad.

_But not all girls are the same. There are girls who can play Quidditch better (and dirtier) than you, and girls who know more swear-words than you've ever heard in your life, and girls who can nearly break your jaw with a well-aimed left hook, and girls who can make you laugh so hard you'll think your brain is going to shoot out of your nose. And remember, it might not seem important now, but in a few years time, you'll be very glad you have girls as friends, because they give absolutely the best advice on how to deal with OTHER girls. _

_Oh, and this is important too: don't just be nice to the pretty ones. You're probably too young to remember but I was pretty chunky before I joined the Quidditch team._

"Still pretty chunky now," chuckled Ron.

_Yeah, yeah, I'll have you know this is all muscle, you cheeky little git._

Ron laughed out loud.

_Anyway, my point is, most blokes are utterly deluded. They think they might be in with a chance with any girl they fancy, mo matter how pretty or popular she is. They never bother with the plain girl who's actually more on their level looks-wise. The thing is, if you go up to a gorgeous girl you've never spoken to before (unless you're really, really handsome) she's gonna say no, or worse, laugh at you. Of course she is. But get to know a girl as a friend first and she'll see past what you look like, even if you're really hideous. Girls are good at that. Boys, sadly, are not so good at seeing beyond what a girl looks like. _

_Something else you might find useful; girls_ _TALK to each other. Not in the same way that_ _boys talk to each other, either. Bear that in mind if you ever say or do something not very nice to a girl. Within half an hour every girl in the entire school will know about it and they'll all be quite happy to tell you exactly what they think of you. Boys don't do that. If you have a fight with another boy, your mates will just shrug and consider it none of their business. Girls will take sides, and worse, they'll take it personally too. Don't do what I did and call a girl a fat troll, loudly, in front of the whole class._

Ron sniggered.

_It's not funny! Seriously, for almost two weeks not a single girl in the entire school would speak to me. I've never been glared at so hard or ignored so pointedly. A girl I'd never even spoken to, not even in my House, not even in my_ _YEAR, came up and slapped me around the face. And she was right to, to be fair. I was an idiot. You would not believe the amount of grovelling I had to do. So yeah, I can't stress this enough, Ronnie, if you ignore everything else I say in this letter, just take this one thing: BE NICE TO GIRLS. _

_I should also stress that the other reason you shouldn't be horrible to girls (or anyone really) is because it's just not very nice. I'm sure you know this already, but calling someone a fat troll, especially for the sake of a cheap laugh, just makes everyone think that_ _YOU'RE the idiot, and they're quite right. How would you like it if someone said something like that to Ginny? You'd want to slap them around the face, wouldn't you? Good. You should. Not slap them around the face, but WANT to. So, yeah, be nice to boys as well. Although you can make an exception for the Slytherins if you want._

_I'm joking, I'm joking! Actually, that's another piece of useful advice I can give you: try and make friends with people from all the Houses, from all kinds of backgrounds. Just because someone's in Slytherin, doesn't mean they're all bad. Try not to judge them based on one thing you know about them. You wouldn't want someone else to do it to you, so try not to do it to others. Unless the one thing you know is that they are a rude, obnoxious idiot, of course – but you never know, they might have their reasons, and turn out to be much nicer when you actually get to know them. That girl I called a fat troll probably thought I was a thoroughly horrible person, whereas actually I was just an immature twelve year old boy trying to impress his mates, because for some reason their approval seemed terribly important at the time. _

_Another thing girls are really good at: suddenly blossoming overnight. Maybe there's a girl who sits in the corner of the classroom in all your lessons, who you never even noticed before, when one day, without any warning, you suddenly see her for the first time. _

Ron frowned. That made no sense. How could you see someone for the first time when they were in all of your lessons?

_Of course, it isn't that she's actually changed overnight, just that you've suddenly realised, as though you've been struck by lightning, that's she's really pretty/ funny/ lovely/ smart/ strangely fascinating, and you can't believe you've never noticed it before. Boys are really good at that. Taking five years to see what's right under their noses. This may come as a shock to you, but boys can be very, very stupid sometimes and especially around girls they find strangely fascinating but can't quite figure out why. Usually, by the time you've worked it out, she's already going out with the most popular boy in school, or - as in the case of that girl I called a fat troll - gets her revenge two years later when you ask her to go to Hogsmeade with you on Valentine's day and she turns you down flat, in the middle of the Great Hall at dinner, listing all the many reasons she wouldn't go out with you if you were the last bloke on earth and the future of humankind depended on it. I learnt a lot about women's ability to hold grudges from that one._

_I'm probably talking WAAAAY above your head here, but this is good advice, so pay attention, 'cos you might find it useful in a couple of years. Of course, no doubt you won't remember a single word of this and you'll make all the same mistakes that every bloke since the beginning of time has done. That's fine. I wouldn't have listened to me either. _

_Oh, if you ever need help with something that's worrying you, or someone's giving you a hard time - basically if you ever need someone's arse kicked; go to Fred and George. They may pretend not to care, but they do, and they WILL sort it out for you. They'll take the mickey out of you for about three years, mind, but they will sort it out. And Percy isn't quite as bad as he pretends to be either. More than anyone else, he does know what it's like to start at school and have to make your own way in the shadow of your older brothers. He's also quite useful when you've got an essay due in in four hours and the crucial textbook you really, really need to finish it has been checked out of the library. Nine times out of ten - unless it's a Magical Creatures book; he thinks that's not a "real" subject - Percy will have a copy. He's saved my skin on more than one occasion. I'm not kidding!_

_Now, Quidditch. I've left this 'til last because, as you know, it's THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD._

(Charlie had underlined this several times, and with such a firm hand that the quill had gone right through the paper)

_If it was possible for someone to Captain the Gryffindor Quidditch team from several thousand miles away, believe me, I would have done it. But for practical reasons, I've had to delegate responsibility to my good friend and Keeper Oliver Wood. I know the team will be in safe hands with Oliver, and I trust him like a brother. Well, more than a brother, which is sort of my point. I trust Oliver, but I don't trust Fred and George. They need keeping in check, and it's different when you're not family. I've smashed their heads together on more than one occasion, but he might not feel he can do that. _

_So, I want you to let me know if they do anything at all to mess up MY Quidditch team. Because it IS my team. It was my team from the moment I joined in second year, it was my team proper when I got made Captain, and it will always, ALWAYS be my team, even when I'm old and bald and can't get my leg over a broomstick anymore. I LOVE that team, and I don't want anybody messing it up, especially my own brothers. _

_I'm not asking you to spy on them; just let me know if they're slacking off or giving Oliver a hard time, and you think a strongly-worded letter from me would shake them up a bit, OK? I know I can trust you with this because I know you understand the importance of Quidditch. And it should also go without saying that if you ever decide to try out for the team yourself, I'll be very, very proud._

_Well, that's about it, I reckon. Basically, the best advice I can give you from the perspective of someone who left school only two months ago is this: Enjoy yourself, because the time will pass more quickly than you think. Have fun. Mum's going to tell you that the most important thing is to work hard, but it isn't. The most important thing is to have as much fun as you can while you're young enough to enjoy it, because once you leave school and you've got responsibilities and rent and bills to pay and bosses who won't tolerate you answering back to them nearly as much as your teachers did, there's a lot less time for that kind of thing. _

_Looking back on it now I can honestly say that I had a great time at school. I made some brilliant friends, I played a lot of Quidditch, and I found something I really love doing that someone ACTUALLY PAYS ME TO DO! If you're lucky you'll discover something you really love doing too. Which is pretty cool, when you think about it. _

_Actually, I kind of envy you, Ronnie. You get to do it all over again, from scratch. I love my job, and my new friends, and having the freedom to do pretty much what I want - well, within the confines of a secure training facility in the middle of the countryside where we all work, eat, sleep and live together and need a special pass to leave the reserve - hmm, maybe I haven't really moved on from school after all!_

_Anyway, I'm going now before I bore you to death or my hand falls off, but if you have the time, do write and let me know how you're getting on. I'd love to hear about what you're up to. Don't worry, I'm not going to do a Mum and insist you write every single week, and it doesn't have to be ten pages long either, just a quick note will do. Actually, I won't be at all upset if I never get a single letter from you, because I'll just assume you're having far too much fun with all your new friends, and that will make me a very happy big brother indeed. _

_la revedere, şi au o mare de timp! _

_('Bye, and have a great time!)_

_Charlie _

Ron was just about to fold up the letter when he noticed there was another sheet of parchment he had nearly missed. Charlie had enclosed a really cool pencil drawing of a dragon which Ron immediately knew he would be taking with him to school next week. He could show it to the other boys in his dorm; they'd be really impressed that his brother worked on a dragon reserve. Maybe he could even ask Charlie to send a photo of himself with one of the dragons next time, so he could prove he wasn't making it up.

Grinning like a maniac, he carefully folded up the letter, put it back in its protective envelope and tucked it into his top pocket where it would be safe. He was feeling a lot happier about going to school now. Charlie made it sound like it might actually be _fun_, instead of a constant round of homework, detention and fending off bullies. Good old Charlie. _And_ he had asked Ron to let him know if Fred and George were playing up. Ha! They had better be nice to him this year or they might find Charlie on their case. He chuckled to himself at the thought of their horrified faces when they realised the power he held over them. Hmm, maybe his first year at school wasn't going to be _quite_ so bad after all...

* * *

_Endnote:_

_Please let me know what you thought of the chapter, thank you!_

_Pb x_


	4. Chapter 4: Thursday: Percy

_Author's note:_

_This would have been published last Sunday, except that my computer cable wore through and I had to wait for a new one to be delivered, seemingly from Outer Mongolia, by yak. Of course, since the final (and only) draft of this chapter was on my laptop, there wasn't much to do but whinge about the inability of the other HP – Hewlett Packard – to provide spares for their own products, forcing me to order something as simple as a cable from the aforementioned Outer Mongolia. Anyway, I hope it was worth the wait!_

_Pb x_

* * *

**Chapter Four: Thursday (Percy)**

"There! All finished!"

Molly Weasley stepped back to admire her handiwork with evident pride. She seized her youngest son around the shoulders and gave him a big wet kiss on the cheek.

"Oh, don't you look _smart!"_

Ron made a noise of disgust and wiped his face. "Can I take them off now?"

"Not yet. I want to take a picture of you in your new robes for your Dad."

"He'll see me _wearing_ them on Monday!"

"Don't be cheeky. Wait here while I fetch the camera."

"Mu-um!" he wailed. "I've been standing here for _ages!"_

"Well, another two minutes won't kill you then, will it?" she retorted.

"Can I sit down, then?"

"No, you can't. You'll crease your robes."

She bustled off to get the camera and Ron stood there on the chair feeling slightly foolish and waited for her to return. He glanced down at his new robes - well, they weren't _his_ and they weren't _new_, like everything else he owned. Percy had been given brand new robes, on account of being made a Prefect, so Ron had inherited his old ones. They were a bit long, but his mum said he would probably grow into them soon enough and at least there'd be room to let them out.

It felt weird wearing his new school uniform, knowing he was going to be wearing it every day from now on. For the first time he felt a distinct tingle of excitement. Wearing his new robes made it all feel so _real_. He felt older in them somehow, more grown up. He was just like his brothers now. Bill and Charlie had worn this uniform. He'd been too young to remember them heading off to Hogwarts for the first time, but he remembered the excitement of the trip to London every September to wave them off at the station. How excited they were, how they couldn't wait to get away from their family and see all of their friends again. School had always seemed like something to look forward to, but now it was actually happening, he wasn't sure how he felt about it. This week was going far too fast for his liking. It was already Thursday, tomorrow was the last day of Bills' holiday, and after that there was only the weekend and that was the last time he'd see this house until Christmas. The last time he'd see Mum and Dad and Ginny for nearly four whole months.

_Mum and Dad._ Suddenly it felt as though there was a tight, heavy knot in the centre of his chest. He'd never been away from home before, not even for a night. After Monday he would only return for Christmas and summer holidays. Mum and Dad and Ginny would be going about their lives as normal, and he'd be several hundred miles away, sharing a room with strangers. Muggleborn strangers. _Slytherin_ strangers.

"Where's Mum?"

He glanced up sharply. Ginny was standing in the doorway with her arms folded, watching him.

"I thought you weren't talking to me."

"I'm not."

"Well, you just _have_, so…"

Ginny flushed in annoyance at being caught out.

"You look really stupid in those robes," she retorted.

"Oh, go away, Ginny," said Ron dismissively. "Go and play with your toys or something."

His sister's eyes immediately filled with tears and she turned and ran off. Ron heard her feet pounding up the stairs followed by the loud slam of a door. He felt a distinct pang of guilt at her tears, although he didn't know why he should feel guilty when _she_ was the one who wasn't talking to _him_. He had no idea what he had done to annoy her or what he should do about it.

"Right, here we are then!"

His mother had returned with the camera. "Was that Ginny?" she asked distractedly.

He nodded.

"That's good. I'm glad you two are friends again."

"Mm," said Ron.

He stepped down off the chair and stood there with a forced smile on his face for another couple of minutes while she fussed about and took some photographs.

"You can take them off now," she told him finally. "And be careful, please, I don't want them getting creased or dirty before Monday."

Ron pulled his robes over his head and put them dutifully over the back of the chair.

"Now," she beamed, with the air of being about to make a very important announcement, "I know I said you couldn't have it until next week, but since you've been _such_ a good boy and stood nice and still for me for such a _long_ time, I've got a special treat for you."

With a smile and a flourish, she presented from behind her back a long oblong wooden box. Ron's stomach performed an odd kind of somersault.

"What is it?" he asked, although of course, he knew perfectly well what it was. There was only one thing it _could_ be.

She laughed. "Your new wand, silly!"

_Charlie's old wand_, he corrected silently.

He took the box gingerly from her and turned it slowly over and over in his hands

"Well," she beamed, "Aren't you going to open it?"

Ron looked up at her and then down at the box again. For some reason that he couldn't quite explain he did _not _want to open it.

"Come on, love," she said gently, "You were all excited about it the other day."

_That's when I thought I was getting a new one_, he thought petulantly. Steeling himself for the inevitable disappointment, he opened the box.

There was a very long silence.

"It's ash," said his mother, cajolingly. "Twelve inches."

Still her son did not move or speak.

"What do you think, Ronnie?"

Ron stared down into the box. He could feel a sharp pricking behind the eyes and a lump in his throat, and he did not trust himself to say anything.

"It's a nice one, isn't it?"

He nodded mutely.

"You can take it out of the box if you like."

_I don't want it, _he thought savagely. _I don't want it, I don't want it, I don't want it!_

He snapped the lid shut, thrust the box back at his mother and ran from the room, ignoring her hurt _"Ronnie!" _and racing up the stairs two at a time, determined to get to his bedroom as quickly as possible before the shameful tears came.

As he passed the open door to Percy's room his brother called out to him. Ron paused on the stairs, panting from the exertion of climbing three flights of stairs in ten seconds flat.

"_What?"_

"Come here a minute."

"What for?" he asked warily.

"Just come here, will you?"

With an exaggerated sigh, Ron retraced his footsteps back down to his brother's room. Percy was seated at his desk writing something in green ink on a very long roll of parchment. Every flat surface and every inch of the floor of his tiny bedroom was piled high with huge, tottering stacks of books. Ron was so surprised he forgot to be upset.

"What's with all the books?"

"I'm trying to decide which ones to take."

"Oh. So these are all the ones you're leaving here?"

"No, these are all the ones I'm taking _with_ me. I've got very important exams this year, remember?"

"Isn't there a library at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, but all the exam books get taken out at the start of the year and if you're not quick enough you'll never see them again. I don't want to leave anything that might be useful. That's why I'm making a list. I want to make sure I've got every subject properly covered."

Ron hovered uncertainly in the doorway while Percy continued to write.

"Perce... can I ask you something?"

"Fire away," said Percy, without looking up.

Ron went and perched awkwardly on the very end of his brother's bed, the only bit of the room he could reach without climbing over several piles of books first.

"Who's the Muggle Prime Minister?"

Percy looked at first surprised and then rather amused. "Why do you want to know?"

Ron flushed slightly. "Someone might ask me."

"Well, I don't think that's very likely, do you?"

Ron jumped to his feet and headed for the door. "Fine, if you don't want to tell me!"

"Oh, for - Ronnie! _Ron! _Come back! I'm sorry. It's John Major. It was Margaret Thatcher for years and years before that - before you were born, in fact - but she sort of got the sack. Look, this sudden thirst for knowledge is really admirable and everything, but you're not going to a Muggle school. No-one is going to ask you who the Muggle Prime Minister is."

"Muggleborns might," said Ron, stubbornly, but he sat back down again anyway.

"They might," admitted Percy. "But they aren't going to know who the Minister of Magic is either. There'll be loads of things that you'll know that they won't."

Ron frowned. "Really?"

"Really."

Ron felt marginally more cheerful."Okay."

Percy scrutinised him over the top of his glasses. "Are you worried about school?"

_"No," _said Ron defensively.

"'Because you'll be fine, you know. It's normal to be scared -"

"I'm not _scared!_"

"Good. But if there's anything specific you're worried about -"

"There isn't."

"Okay, but if there _was_…"

He took off his glasses and polished them on his shirt. "Listen, since you're here, a bit of advice. First impressions are _very_ important. You don't want to get in with the wrong crowd. The friends you make in your first term will determine how other people, especially the teachers, see you for the rest of your time at school. You don't want to get a reputation as a troublemaker; it could ruin your whole future. Just because Fred and George think it's funny to mess around, doesn't mean you should follow their example. I know what they're like; they can be very persuasive, but if you work hard and pass your exams you'll have a lot of opportunities in life, and that's not going to happen if you spend all your time in detention for blowing up toilets. Okay?"

Ron tried very hard to hide the smile that had instantly appeared on his face at the mention of blowing up toilets.

"And, remember, if you see anyone breaking any school rules, come straight to me, or another prefect, or even better, a teacher."

Ron had never been to school before, but even he knew that reporting someone to the teachers wouldn't be a good idea. Not if he wanted to have any _friends_, anyway.

And that reminded him of something that he _was_ worried about, that maybe he could ask Percy and Percy wouldn't tease him about it the way Fred and George definitely would.

"What if -" he blurted, but then stopped again, unsure if he wanted to pursue it.

What if all the other boys in his dorm were Muggleborns and he was the only Pureblood wizard? What if they didn't like him? What if they laughed at his hand-me-down robes and second-hand books and rubbish wand? What if he didn't make any friends at _all?_

"Go on," prompted Percy, gently.

"What if all the other boys in my dorm are Muggleborns? What do I say to them? And what if I don't make any friends? I've never had to make friends before. Outside of the family, I mean. What if I'm rubbish at it?"

Percy surveyed him gravely for a moment. "Well... I think as long as you don't ask them who their favourite Quidditch team is, you should be okay. Look, you've got to remember they'll be in exactly the same position as you, only they'll be even _more_ scared because they won't know anything about the wizarding world. Imagine how _you'd_ feel if you got sent to a _Muggle_ school."

Ron looked suitably horrified.

"Well, that's exactly how they'll feel. So be nice to them, help them out. You never know, one of them might turn out to be your best friend."

Ron made a face. _That_ didn't seem very likely.

"And as for not making friends… Listen, I do understand, you know. Everyone says you're lucky not to be on your own when you've got brothers at school, but you _are _on your own. They can't make friends _for_ you. They're not in your lessons all day or in your dorm at night. You have to make your own way, and your own friends, too. But you _will_ make friends, Ron. It might be that the people you have a natural affinity with are in a different House than you, that's all. For instance, most of _my_ friends are in Ravenclaw."

"Are they?" asked Ron, intrigued. "How come? Didn't you _like _the other Gryffindor boys in your year?"

Percy didn't respond at first. He picked up the nearest book, opened it, and read a couple of lines before putting it down again.

"It's not that..." he said, in an odd voice, "They just don't... they're just not... I mean, you can't expect to get on with _everyone_, can you?"

He noticed his brother's confused expression and attempted to rephrase himself. "Well, it's not so much that we don't get _on_, more that we don't particularly have anything in common, that's all. The Ravenclaws are much more my kind of people."

Ron was rather surprised. From what Fred and George had said, he'd got the idea that there wasn't much mixing between the Houses at all.

"Did you ask if you could be in Ravenclaw too?"

Percy shook his head. "Oh, I couldn't do _that_. Mum and Dad would have been _devastated_. Anyway, Weasleys are _always_ in Gryffindor, everyone knows that."

"Mm," said Ron, privately thinking that there was a first time for everything.

"Anyway," continued Percy, "There's really nothing to worry about. You'll be fine."

"But what if I'm not?"

"You will be."

"But -"

"Ron, I _promise_ you, you'll be absolutely fine. It'll be different for you."

Ron did not look entirely convinced.

"Of course," Percy went on, "The most important thing is not to get in with the wrong crowd. Friends may come and go but if you fail all your exams because you spent all your time at school messing around, you're the one who'll have to worry about finding a job and paying the rent, not them. Now, I recommend setting yourself some simple goals early on. It's never too early to get into a studying routine, and that way it'll be less of a shock when it comes to exams. And don't let your friends distract you. It's very easy to get dragged down by the kind of people who think that studying is somehow - he made air quotes around the word - _"uncool" _- but you can't let other people dictate your future. And don't think that end of year exams are a waste of time, either, because they're not. Apart from anything else, the teachers will use your results to assess your progress. If they think you don't care about their subject, why should they waste their time teaching you when there are people in the class who genuinely want to learn? You'll get an excellent idea of your capabilities and how you're progressing academically too."

He carried on talking and Ron's eyes began to glaze over. There were loads more questions he wanted to ask, but if they were just going to result in another boring lecture, he'd rather not bother. He wondered vaguely what was for tea tonight and whether, as it was Bill's last day tomorrow, Mum would lay on some kind of special dinner. Maybe she'd even bake a _cake_. She'd probably make all of Bill's favourite foods, as a special going-away treat, just as she had done when Charlie left. Maybe she'd make _Ron_ a special meal on Sunday too! His favourite was her sticky, sweet and delicious treacle tart, still warm from the oven, with a big jug of thick cream on the side. His stomach rumbled loudly at the thought of it and woke him up from his own reverie. He was dismayed to discover that Percy was still talking.

"… of course, the common room is _supposed_ to be for study, but in reality you'll probably need to find somewhere quiet if you want to actually get any work done. I favour the library on Saturday mornings or an empty classroom after hours -"

"You go to the _library_ on _Saturdays?"_ exclaimed Ron, incredulously.

Percy gave a mirthless laugh. "Do you _know_ how much homework we get in fifth year?"

Ron faltered. "How much?"

"Loads," said Percy, with a grim kind of satisfaction. "That's why I've drawn up a revision plan. It's colour-coded by subject. I'm starting with two hours a night but I'll be building that up by an extra hour each month -"

"Not at weekends though?" asked Ron, alarmed. He hadn't really thought about all the homework he'd be expected to do.

"Of course not," said Percy briskly. "At weekends I'll start with five hours a day and build upwards from there. After Christmas I need to be doing a minimum of six hours revision on weekdays and at least double that at weekends. That's an absolute _minimum_, mind. And of course, that's on top of normal homework as well."

"Oh," said Ron, weakly. "So how much homework do first years get then?"

"Oh, not much," said Percy dismissively.

Ron couldn't help thinking that Percy's idea of "not much" homework was probably not the same as anyone else's_. _

"You know," said Percy, "You really should read this."

He reached for the top book on the pile nearest to him and held it up so Ron could see the cover.

Ron read the title aloud, with a frown. "_Hogwarts: A History_."

"It's a very useful book," enthused Percy. "You'll find it answers many of the questions you might have about how Hogwarts operates, its history, that kind of thing. Did you know that the school was founded over a thousand years ago? Or that Godric Gryffindor was from a little village somewhere on Exmoor? You can borrow it if you want. It's actually a really fascinating read."

Ron eyed the huge and heavy book with alarm. "No, thanks, Perce," he said hurriedly. "You're alright."

"Well, if you change your mind, make sure you leave me a note, because otherwise you'll throw my whole system into disarray. And bring it back by Sunday evening. I don't want to arrive at school next week and find I'm missing an important book."

_"System?" _repeated Ron, with a grin.

"You've got to have a system," said Percy, failing to realise he was being gently teased. "I've separated the books by OWL subject. This is in _General_, because it might have applications across a range of subjects, you see." He gestured in turn to the various little piles of books surrounding him. "Those are Ancient Runes, these are Potions, those are Defence Against the Dark Arts, those are Transfiguration, that's Muggle Studies, those are Herbology, these are Arithmancy, those are Charms, those are Astronomy, and those six piles over there are History of Magic."

Ron attempted to do a quick bit of mental calculation but then gave up. Maths was _not_ his strong point. "So how many subjects are you taking?"

"Twelve."

_"Twelve!"_

"Yes, but you won't be doing that many. First years only take the seven core subjects. Oh, and you're also expected to take Quidditch lessons for the first term, which is a massive waste of time, if you ask me."

"What about Care of Magical Creatures?" piped up Ron, remembering what Charlie had said in his letter.

Percy made a face. "One of the less useful subjects, in my opinion." He gave a disparaging little laugh. "I mean, it's not as though I'm going to be doing the kind of job that requires me to work _outside_, is it?"

"Charlie works outside," said Ron defensively.

"Well, that's Charlie," said Percy, with a shrug. "_I _certainly don't intend to spend the rest of my life mucking out dragon enclosures and earning peanuts for the privilege, thank you very much. Divination's a total waste of time too. Load of airy-fairy nonsense. And I happen to know that several _very_ important and high-up members of staff at Hogwarts agree with me."

Ron felt rather annoyed on Charlie's behalf. "Where did you get the money for all these books, anyway?" he asked his brother, in an attempt to move the subject on from Charlie's job. "They must have cost a fortune."

Percy gave a wry smile. "Pocket money and birthdays, mostly, but also judicious checking of every second-hand bookshop in Hogsmeade and London. They've got lists of all the books I need and they send me an owl when they get a copy in stock. A lot of work has gone into building up this library. Most of these, you might notice, are not exactly in the best condition. I've had to repair a lot of them myself. None of them are new or the most recent editions. Some have the plates missing. When I'm earning my own money," he added fiercely, "I'm only ever going to buy _new_ books. And clothes."

"At least you got a new wand," said Ron. "I've got to use Charlie's."

"Well, wands are expensive," explained Percy, helpfully.

"I _know_," said Ron, through gritted teeth. "I _know_ they are."

"Actually," began Percy, rising from his chair, "That reminds me… I've got something for you."

"It's not a _book_, is it?"

Percy shook his head. "You know Mum and Dad bought me a new owl as a reward for being made Prefect?"

Ron just about managed to keep from rolling his eyes. Percy did like to drop this into conversation at the slightest opportunity.

"Yeah."

"Well… it's not a very good idea to keep an owl and its favourite food in the same room. So I thought…"

He stepped carefully over a small pile of books, reached into a metal cage in the corner and withdrew his wriggling pet rat.

"Well... I thought _you_ might like to have him."

Ron blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "Who?"

"Scabbers. My rat."

_"Have _him?"

"Yeah. If you want."

Ron hardly dared believe it. "You mean, to _keep?" _

Percy laughed. "Yes, I mean to keep! He'd be _your _pet."

"Really?"

"Really."

A slow smile spread across Ron's face. "Cool!" he exclaimed, gleefully.

"Now, diet -"

And he was off again.

"… He'll eat anything, but don't give him too much meat because it's bad for him. And don't feed him cheese either; that's a myth. It disagrees with their digestive system. Lots of fruit and veg. Seeds are good too. And don't give him things like pudding or cake. He'll eat them, but it's better if he has fruit. Same as for humans, basically. You can feed him leftovers if you want, but make sure he has the proper rat food too. I'll give you the addresses of a couple of shops where you can buy it. There's one in Diagon Alley and one in Hogsmeade, but you probably won't get much chance to get to either of those outside of the holidays. There's an owl order shop too, in case you run out while you're at school. They take about a week to process the order though, so don't leave it until the last minute. And change the water every day - it needs to be clean, or he'll get ill. There's a bottle that attaches to the outside of his cage. You can just unclip it, see? And don't just leave him in the cage. He'll sleep all day if he can, but it's better if you get him out of the cage and interact with him. Rats are very intelligent animals and they get bored easily. Be careful he doesn't run off, though. He never has done before, but you don't want him getting trapped under the floorboards or getting loose in the castle; Filch's cat will probably finish him off before you find him again."

He saw that Ron looked rather overwhelmed, and sighed. "Look, I'm not expecting you to remember all this. I've got a couple of books you can have, they tell you everything you need to know."

"Okay," said Ron, gratefully.

"Oh, and don't pick him up by the tail, he doesn't like it. See how I'm holding him? Supporting him underneath with my other hand?"

Ron nodded.

"Do you want to hold him?"

Ron's eyes widened. "Can I?"

"Of course you can, he's yours now."

Ron took the animal from his brother's hands with great care, as though he were handling something very precious. Scabbers stopped wriggling the moment he held him against his chest and nuzzled into the front of Ron's t-shirt.

"He's all warm," he murmured in awe.

"Oh, yeah, that's another thing; it gets really cold in the castle, especially in the winter, so make sure he has enough bedding. I can pop into Diagon Alley tomorrow morning and get you a new bag of straw if you like. There's a pet shop in the village where you can get the straw as well, but you'll need Muggle money, so ask Dad first. You can use shredded newspaper if you can't get straw. And change the bedding every day. Contrary to what people think, domestic rats are very clean animals. And there's his cage, of course, and a blanket he likes to sleep on -"

He stopped, and sat down at the desk again. "Well, anyway… be nice to him. He's old and he sleeps a lot, but he's a good pet."

"Thanks, Perce," said Ron huskily, "I will." He didn't know why, but looking down at the sleeping rat nestled against his chest he suddenly felt on the verge of tears for the second time that day. "He's brilliant."

Percy smiled. "Well, I wouldn't go that far… But I'm glad you're taking him. I know you'll look after him properly."

"I will. I definitely will."

"Good. Look, I've got to sort out these books, so I'll bring the rest of the stuff up to your room later, okay?"

"Okay," nodded Ron. "Thanks. Thank you."

"And listen, don't worry; as long as you keep him warm and clean and well-fed and take him out of his cage for a bit of exercise now and then, he'll be happy. I wouldn't have entrusted him to anyone else, you know."

They exchanged hesitant little smiles, then Ron threw himself at Percy and gave him a quick, tight, one-armed hug. Percy patted him awkwardly on the head.

"Thanks!" blurted Ron, and with Scabbers held tightly against his chest he hurried off, eager to start playing with his new pet at once. But as he left the room he walked straight into Ginny, who was on her way downstairs. He was so excited he completely forgot that she wasn't talking to him.

"Look, Ginny!" he exclaimed gleefully, holding Scabbers out to show her, "Look what Percy gave me! Isn't he cool?"

Ginny just gave him a blank stare, and deliberately shoved past him as hard as she could. Ron stared after her, feeling rather as though someone had just thrown a bucket of cold water over him. Well, fine_. _If she didn't want to talk to him anymore, that was up to her, wasn't it? What did he care? He had Scabbers now. What did he need a _sister_ for?

* * *

_Endnote:_

_Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you thought of the chapter. Next: Bill (hurray!)_


	5. Chapter 5: Friday: Bill

_Author's Note__: _

_I'm so happy to be publishing this tonight! I'm going back home to glorious Sussex for a week, to chill out, do some crochet (why, yes, I do crochet, wanna make something of it?) and hopefully some writing, and go for lots of long, bracing walks by the sea. Enjoy the chapter! _

_Pb x_

* * *

**Chapter Five: Friday (Bill)**

Ron was lying on his stomach in the long grass at the bottom of the garden, eating an apple from the tree and enjoying the warmth of the sun on his back and a rare moment of peace. It felt like the last afternoon of the summer. Certainly he was very much aware it was the last day for a long time where he would be able to lie in the garden for hours just doing nothing. Tomorrow was the weekend, and then... well, Monday was the end of everything and the beginning of everything all at the same time. His stomach squirmed unpleasantly every time he thought of it. There was no getting out of it now. No matter how much he'd like to hide in the attic until they'd all left for the station, it _was _happening. He was going to Hogwarts on Monday whether he liked it or not.

He offered a bit of chewed apple to Scabbers and was rewarded by the rat nibbling the end of his finger.

"_Ow!"_ he laughed, pulling his hand back hurriedly. "Don't eat _me!_ Eat the apple!"

He put the piece of fruit on the ground in front of the animal and watched him eat with fascination. "Is that nice, Scabbers? Lovely bit of apple. Yum yum."

He picked a blade of grass and tickled Scabbers under the chin with it.

"I wouldn't have called you Scabbers. Scabbers is a stupid name. I would have called you something cool. But then you're not very cool, are you, or you wouldn't have been Percy's pet. That's alright; I'm not very cool either.

Actually, you're a bit of a mess, really. Your fur's falling out. You've got a toe missing. Poor Scabbers. You've really been in the wars, haven't you? Did you lose your toe in a fight? I bet you were a right little scrapper when you were younger, weren't you?

You're coming to school with me on Monday, that's exciting, isn't it? We go to London first by Floo network, and then we have to get a special train that takes us all the way up to Scotland. Oh, but you've been before, haven't you? You went with Percy. _I_ haven't. It's my first time.

I'm glad you're coming with me, actually. At least I'll have _one_ friend to talk to. Even if you can't talk back," he added wryly. "Maybe that's good, though. I can tell you all my secrets and I know you won't laugh or tell anybody. Not that I've got any secrets. But if I did, I'd tell you, because you're my friend and that's what friends do."

He took another bite of the apple and offered Scabbers a bit, but the rat just curled up into a ball and went to sleep.

"I mean, if anyone tried to shove my head down the toilet, you'd bite them for me, wouldn't you?"

But Scabbers slept on and Ron sighed.

"Do you think anyone would mind if I just… stayed here? I mean, maybe if I caught Spattergroit or something really contagious and horrible, I'd have to stay at home until I got better, and then I could go next year with Ginny instead. If she's still talking to me by then. I don't know why she's being so annoying. I mean, I've _asked_, but she won't talk to me. How am I supposed to know what I've done wrong if she won't tell me? Maybe I'm just supposed to _guess_ or something. What do you think, Scabbers? Any ideas?"

Scabbers did not offer an opinion.

"No, I haven't got a bloody clue either," said Ron gloomily.

He poked the rat gently, but it did not stir. "You're useless, aren't you? All you do is sleep and eat. No wonder Percy didn't want you. You're a really boring pet."

He felt guilty almost at once, and leant down close to the rat and whispered, "I didn't really mean that. Sorry, Scabbers. You're not boring."

"Talking to yourself, Ron?"

Ron glanced up. His brother Bill was strolling down the path towards the gate, looking amused.

"I'm talking to Percy's rat, Scabbers. He gave him to me. To keep!"

"That's nice of Percy. Are you going to give him a new name?"

Ron blinked. "He's already got a name."

"Fair enough," chuckled Bill, and he carried on walking.

"Where are you going?"

"Just down to the village to stretch my legs."

"Can I come?" asked Ron, scrambling eagerly to his feet.

"I don't see why not. Best leave Scabbers here, though. I don't think they'd much like it if you brought a rat into the Post Office."

A few minutes later Scabbers was back in his cage and permission was granted for Bill to take Ron down to the village with him, as long as they were back in plenty of time for dinner and Bill promised not to fill his brother full of sweets.

They were hardly out of sight of the house before Bill reached into his pocket for a cigarette. He lit it with the end of his wand, sucked on it hard for a few moments, then closed his eyes in bliss.

"_Ohhhh_… Merlin, that's good." He glanced at his brother. "But disgusting and really, really bad for you, so don't you go taking it up. Filthy habit."

"I don't think there's much chance of that. Do you _know_ how much pocket money I get?"

Bill chuckled. "And don't tell Mum; she'll go spare. She doesn't know I smoke."

"I won't." A beat. "Can I have an ice-cream?"

Bill laughed out loud. "Have you been taking blackmail lessons from Fred and George?"

_"No," _protested Ron, indignantly. "I wouldn't have told her anyway."

"Good for you."

"Can I, then?"

"We'll see."

Ron smiled to himself. Bill's "we'll see" was not the same as Mum's. If _she_ said "we'll see", she was usually just stalling in the hope they'd stop pestering her about it.

"Are you coming home for Christmas?" he asked, hurrying to keep up with his brother's long stride.

"Sorry, matey. Can't this year. Got plans."

"You're staying in Egypt?"

"No, and anyway, they don't celebrate Christmas over there."

"Don't they?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Bill rubbed his eyes wearily. "Listen, I didn't get to bed until half past five this morning, can we save the philosophical debate for another time?"

"Half past five!" exclaimed Ron incredulously. He couldn't imagine anyone staying up that late on _purpose_. "How come?"

"Umm..." said Bill, stalling for time by searching through his pockets for an imaginary something, "I stayed over at a friend's house, that's all."

"What friend?"

"Just a friend."

"What's his name?"

"Inga."

_"Inga?_ That's a silly name!"

"Not in Sweden. She's Swedish."

_"She?" _

"Yeah. It's a girl. Well, a woman."

Ron made a face. "Your girlfriend?"

"_Ummm_… sort of."

"How can she _sort of _be your girlfriend?"

"What is this, twenty questions?"

"But -"

"She's not my girlfriend," said Bill firmly.

"Why did she say she was sort of your girlfriend then?"

"It's complicated. Listen -"

"Is she pretty?"

Bill laughed out loud. "You've never been to Sweden, have you? _All _the girls are pretty!"

"Have _you_ been to Sweden, then?" asked Ron, eagerly. "Is that where you went last night?"

"No, of course not, she lives in London. That's where I'm going for Christmas, though; to stay with her. You'd love it, Ronnie. They live up near the Arctic Circle and in the winter they get about twenty foot of snow. She sent me a picture of her house once, and the snow was so high you could only see the _roof!"_

_"Wow," _exclaimed Ron, impressed.

"That's why they paint the roofs red in Scandinavia," Bill explained. "So people can find their houses in the snow."

"Will you send me a picture?"

"'Course I will. I'll send you a special Christmas card with a photo of me outside their house, so you'll know I was there. With a reindeer, if you like."

"Wearing Mum's Christmas jumper?" grinned Ron.

Bill laughed out loud. "_No," _he said firmly, "I can pretty much guarantee that I _won't_ be wearing one of Mum's Christmas jumpers. Not to meet my girlfriend's parents, anyway."

"I thought she wasn't your girl-"

Bill cuffed him lightly around the head. "Alright, smartarse. I said she was _sort of_ my girlfriend, so let's just leave it at that, shall we?"

They both laughed.

"If you marry her, will you go and live in Sweden?"

"I'm not going to marry her, Ron."

"But if you _did_," persisted Ron, "I could come and visit."

"Well, if I did, you could, but I'm not, so you can't."

Ron made a face.

"Ron, I am not marrying her just so you can have a nice holiday, okay?"

_"Fine," _sighed Ron. "I suppose I won't get to see all that snow, then."

"You get a lot of snow up at Hogwarts too," Bill told him. "Not as much as Sweden, but still quite a bit. I remember one year we had a huge snowball fight out on the Quidditch pitch. It went on for _hours_."

He gave a wistful sigh. "That's what I miss in Egypt, actually. Weather."

Ron laughed. _"Weather?"_

Bill shrugged. "Well, it's always hot and dry in Egypt. Forty degrees, every bloody day. Gets a bit boring after a while. You start to long for a nice bit of drizzle."

They both laughed.

"You could come back to England," suggested Ron hopefully. "I mean, if you hate it that much…"

Bill shook his head. "I don't _hate_ it, Ron. It's my job. I _love_ my job. If I didn't, I wouldn't be living halfway around the world away from all my friends and family."

"But you work for Gringotts! Couldn't you do the same job here?"

"Not really. Not this exact job. And anyway, I get paid really well for doing it, so I reckon I can put up with the boring weather for at least a couple of years. Save up some money; buy a little house somewhere, by the sea. You can come and stay, anytime you like."

Ron was silent for a few moments. "So I won't see you 'til next summer?"

Bill gave an apologetic shrug. "Probably not. Sorry, Ronnie. It's just hard to get time off, that's all."

As they arrived in the village they were greeted by the glorious and unmistakeable scent of hot chips wafting from the village fish 'n' chip shop-cum-Chinese-takeaway, just opening for business for the evening.

"Can we have chips?" asked Ron, instantly perking up at the prospect of food.

"No, we can't. Mum's cooking tonight, remember?"

"Can I have an ice cream, then?"

Bill chuckled. "That's still _food_, Ronnie."

"It's mostly water, though."

"So are chips. So are you. _All living things _are mostly water."

Ron tried another tack. "You said you'd buy me an ice-cream if I didn't tell Mum about you smoking."

"And you said you wouldn't tell her anyway."

Ron gave a nonchalant shrug. "Well, it was worth a try."

Bill laughed. "Oh, yeah, you've got to at least _try_. I always give you credit for trying, Ron." He shook his head. _"Fine! _Wait here, then. I'll be back in a minute."

A minute later they were both stretched out happily on the village green, Bill with a much-needed cold bottle of beer, and Ron with a strawberry Cornetto. He had never had a Cornetto before. On the rare occasions that Mum relented and bought them Muggle ice-creams, they usually got the plain orange ice lollies, because they were the cheapest. Not that they ever complained, of course. Shop-bought sweets of any kind were a rare and wonderful treat.

"How's the ice-cream?"

"Amazing," said Ron thickly, "It's the best thing _ever_. Thanks, Bill."

"You're welcome," chuckled Bill. "And _really_ easily pleased, by the way. I think that might be the best pound I've ever spent."

He lit up another cigarette and for several minutes the brothers sat on the grass with their legs stretched out in front of them, enjoying the warmth of the early evening sun, and the simple blissful joy of an ice-cream and a cigarette.

"What time are you leaving tomorrow?" asked Ron eventually.

"Not too early. It's my last chance for a lay-in for a while, so I plan to make the most of it."

He pressed the cold bottle to his forehead and let out a little sigh of pleasure.

"What are you drinking?" asked Ron curiously, noticing the unfamiliar brown bottle.

"Beer."

"Butterbeer?"

"Nope, just beer."

"Can I have a taste?"

"No."

"Oh, go on."

"You won't like it."

"I might."

Bill laughed. "I guarantee you _won't. I _don't even like the taste of it much."

"Why are you drinking it then?"

Bill sighed. "If I give you a really quick taste will you shut up?"

He glanced around to check no-one was watching, then pushed the bottle across the grass to Ron. "Just one little taste, alright?"

Ron grasped the bottle in both hands and upended it over his mouth. He hadn't anticipated the weight of the heavy glass bottle or the force of the liquid rushing downwards and choked on it, spraying beer all over his clothes and Bill too.

Bill quickly wrestled the bottle from Ron's hands and righted it, then pulled out his wand and siphoned the liquid off their clothes.

"Merlin, Ron, you smell like you've been bathing in it! Mum will _kill_ me if I bring you home stinking of booze!" He started laughing. "Oh, you're going to get me in so much trouble!"

Ron pretended to go all floppy and fell back on the grass, giggling. "I'm really drunk!"

"You're not drunk, Ron. Your shirt's had more to drink than you have."

"Noooo, I'm really, really drunk!"

A middle-aged couple coming out of the Post Office glared at them.

"Stop it, Ron," said Bill sharply. "I don't want to have to Confund any more policemen."

"Why does everyone keep staring at us?" asked Ron, sitting up again.

"Well," said Bill, dryly, "I _expect_ it's because they think I've got an eleven year old drunk..."

"Is it because we're wizards?"

Bill gave a mirthless laugh. "Worse. They think we're hippies."

"What are hippies?"

"They're sort of… well… they usually have long hair, and they all live together in a big house, and they grow their own vegetables and keep chickens and stuff."

Ron pondered this for a moment. "So are _we_ hippies, then?"

"No."

"But we keep chickens and live in a big house. _And_ we grow our own vegetables!"

"Yeah, but that doesn't make us hippies."

"But you just said -"

"It's not _just_ that. They see us around the village and they know we must be related because of the hair, but they don't know exactly _where_ we live because, of course, our house is invisible to Muggles. They don't like that. They don't like the idea of hidden stuff going on in the village that they're not in on. Not to mention that we dress funny and don't go to school. Or at least, not to the local school, so they assume we don't go at all. Hippies often educate their kids at home, you see."

Ron's brow furrowed. "We dress funny?"

"Well, Muggles think we do. But you should see some of the stuff _they_ wear. Especially the women."

"Why?" asked Ron curiously, "What do they wear?"

"Wait three years and you'll find out," said Bill mysteriously.

Ron tried to work out what he might mean by this, then gave up.

"Anyway, it's not you they're staring at me, it's me."

"Why?"

"Mainly, it's the hair. They _really _have a problem with the long hair."

"And the earring," added Ron, gleefully.

"Yeah, that too."

"Mum doesn't like your earring either."

"Tell me about it. She's been chewing my ear off about it ever since I arrived."

"Well, I like it."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, I think it's cool."

"Maybe you could get an earring when you're older."

Ron shook his head. "Nah. I might get a tattoo, though."

Bill bit back a laugh. "Nice. What would you get?"

Ron considered for a moment, then broke into a wide grin. "A skull!"

Bill laughed out loud. "Good choice. No-one would dare mess with you."

"Or maybe the Cannons' logo..."

"You still like them, then?"

"Yeah, of course! You don't stop liking your team just because they're bottom of the League."

Bill nodded. "Quite right too. Stupid question, really. I mean, I've _seen_ your bedroom and you're the only thing in it that isn't orange."

He reached into one of the many pockets of his trousers for another cigarette.

"What's in all the pockets?" asked Ron, curiously.

Bill laughed. "Good question! Let's see, shall we?"

He went through each pocket in turn, pulling out the contents and laying them on the grass beside him. "Quill… notebook... chewing gum… teabags... penknife… Muggle money… proper money… Egyptian money… keys… not sure what that is… cigarettes... whoops, pretend you didn't see those… petrified worm… wand..."

Ron's interest in the petrified worm was immediately superseded by his greater interest in Bill's wand.

He reached a hand out towards it, but Bill was faster.

_"Don't touch it!"_

Ron flushed crimson. "Sorry," he mumbled, mortified.

"No, it's okay. It's got a protective spell on it, that's all. Give me a second, I'll take it off."

"I'm really sorry," said Ron again.

"Don't be silly, it's my fault. I should have warned you." He was silent for a moment, concentrating on the wand in his hand, then he took a deep breath and handed it back to Ron. "There you go, it's fine now. I'm sorry I shouted."

"What would have happened if I'd touched it?" asked Ron, curiously.

Bill shook his head. "You don't want to know."

"I do!"

"Seriously, you _don't_. I should have taken the spell off when I came home. The thought of you or Ginny touching it…" He gave an involuntary shudder.

Ron held Bill's wand out in front of him and tried a few practice moves, the way he'd seen other grown-up wizards do.

"Careful," warned Bill. "Don't want you doing any accidental spells, do we?"

Ron's eyes widened. "Can that happen?"

"Oh, yeah," said Bill, grimly. "Let's just say I learnt very quickly not to keep my wand in my trouser pocket."

Alarmed, Ron made sure to hold the wand as far away from his body as he could.

"Mum said you keep breaking them."

Bill gave a hollow laugh. "Yeah, I get through about five a year. It's not so much that I _break_ them, it's just unavoidable with my job."

"Why?"

"Well… let's just say that when you set off a three thousand year old curse, it's better that your _wand_ takes the brunt than _you_ do…"

"Cool," breathed Ron, impressed.

Bill was keeping a very close eye on how Ron was handling the wand and it made him nervous, as though it might explode in his hands. He handed it quickly back to Bill and watched him stuffing it and the rest of his peculiar possessions back into his many pockets.

"Bill… can I ask you something?"

"'Course."

"Did you get a new wand when you went to school?"

"Well, yeah, but I was the first in the family to go, so..."

"Mum says I've got to have Charlie's old wand."

"Yeah, I heard about that."

Ron was rather surprised. "Did you?"

"Yeah. Mum was a bit upset that you didn't like it."

"It's not that I didn't _like_ it," Ron protested, guiltily. "It's just…"

"You'd rather have a new one."

Ron gave a helpless shrug. "Sorry," he mumbled, ashamed.

"It's okay to want new stuff, Ron. It doesn't make you a bad person. And you know that if Mum and Dad could afford it, they'd buy you everything you wanted. They'd buy you the Chudley Cannons covered in chocolate if they could. But when you're a family of nine living on a single income, you have to decide what's most important and make savings where you can. What you _need _has to take priority over what you _want_. You need a wand, but Percy also needs books, Ginny needs a new dress, and Fred and George need new robes. Two sets of robes are expensive, so Percy only gets half the books he wants, Ginny gets a dress made out of a pair of old curtains and you get Charlie's old wand. That way they have more money to spend on other things. Your turn will come around though, don't worry."

Ron was silent for a moment. That seemed unlikely. With five older brothers there always seemed to be an unlimited supply of stuff to hand down to him. Bill and Ginny were the only ones who ever got stuff new. And the twins, of course, since they always needed two of something at exactly the same time. It was alright for Bill, of course; he could buy himself anything he wanted. Ron had long since learnt there was no point asking for anything because the chances of him getting it were practically nil. He remembered the first time he had realised they were poor. He was five years old and he desperately wanted a dog, more than anything he'd ever wanted before or since. Mum hadn't even said "we'll see" on that occasion, just a very firm "_No_, Ronnie", and then, when he persisted, had told him that dogs ate food and food cost money, and it was hard enough trying to feed nine people on one salary let alone a greedy puppy too. He had obviously picked a bad day to ask, but he still remembered the shock of her refusal and the sudden jolt of understanding that followed.

A lot of things fell into place in his head that day. Why they never went on holiday. Why people in shops sometimes gave them funny looks, as though the Weasleys were something they'd stepped in. Why none of his clothes ever seemed to fit properly. Why Dad had to work such long hours. Why Mum got so annoyed with her children when they pestered her for ice-creams.

"What if I'm the only first year with a second-hand wand?" he asked aloud.

"You won't be."

"But how do you _know?"_

Bill shrugged. "I just do. And listen; if anyone says anything, just poke them in the eye." He took another sip of beer. "On second thoughts, don't do that. Just… tell them it used to belong to your brother, and he was really cool, and he did a load of cool stuff with it."

"Did he?" asked Ron eagerly. "Like what?"

"Well… he learned how to train dragons. That's pretty cool."

"That _is_ pretty cool," Ron agreed.

"There you go, then. You should be _proud_ to use Charlie's old wand."

"It's all splintery, though. And there are scorch marks on it."

"That'll be from the dragons," shrugged Bill. "Stuff tends to get burned a lot when they're around. Charlie burned his eyebrows off once."

Ron giggled and Bill laughed too. "That's why you never see dragon-handlers with beards. Too dangerous!"

They both burst out laughing. An old lady trimming her hedge outside her house glared at them, as though laughing in public was a sure sign of moral deficiency. Bill gave her a cheery wave.

"Lovely evening!"

The woman looked horrified and hurried back into her house, slamming the door firmly behind her. Ron gaped at his brother in awe.

"Best way to deal with these people," Bill told him. "Confound their expectations."

"What does that mean?"

"It means, do the opposite of what they expect you to do. They think I'm some sort of drug-taking hippy layabout, so if I'm extra-polite to them, they don't know how to respond. It throws them."

Ron was silent for a few moments.

"Why can't you stay 'til Sunday?"

"I just can't, Ronnie. I'm sorry."

"But why not?"

"Because I've got to be back at work on Monday, and it takes the best part of a day to get home on the Floo Network. Besides, I promised I'd pop in and see some friends before I go. They're throwing a bit of a party for me."

"Where?"

"Bristol."

"Can I come?"

Bill laughed. "No! It's a grown-ups' party. There'll be _drinking_."

"I don't mind."

"I'm sure you don't, but the answer's still no. Anyway, you'll have a lot of stuff to sort out ready for school on Monday. Have you packed your trunk yet?"

Ron's stomach gave a sickly lurch. "Not yet," he mumbled.

"Are you looking forward to it?"

Ron made a face. "Sort of."

Bill chuckled. "Yeah, that's how I felt too. Listen, you'll be fine. You're a good kid, you're funny... you'll make loads of friends, I promise."

Ron looked unconvinced.

"Look, you've got to remember that everyone else is in the same boat. They're all looking around, worried whether people will like them, desperate not to be the one who doesn't make any friends. Just _talk _to people. It's not hard. If you make the first move, they'll be really grateful, and they'll remember you were friendly to them when they were scared and on their own. Christ, you never shut up at home, you won't have any problems!"

"That's different. That's at home. I've never been away from home before. All the Muggleborn kids will have been at school for years already."

"But they'll still be going there not knowing anyone. You'll all be starting anew. And they'll be worried that they won't know anything and everyone will think they're stupid, or they'll get picked on for not coming from a wizarding family."

"Does that happen?"

Bill shrugged. "Sometimes."

"But it's not their fault!"

"I know. But there are some people who don't think Muggleborns are proper wizards."

"That's stupid."

"Yes, it is. It's very, very stupid. And it's just another form of snobbery, really. If you meet anyone who believes it, you can tell them what a load of awful stuck-up snobs they are."

Ron laughed. "I can't say that!"

"Yes, you can. Do it for me. And do it for Dad too. He doesn't get angry often, but if there's one thing that's guaranteed to really get him spitting feathers, it's anti-Muggle snobbery."

"Okay."

"And besides, it's true what they say…"

"What do they say?"

"There really _is_ something about a Muggle girl…"

Ron pulled a face, and Bill laughed. "It's true! There's just something about them."

Ron followed his brother's gaze across the road to a young woman in a floaty summer dress and sandals who smiled at Bill as she passed and then looked away, blushing furiously.

"Who's that?" asked Ron at once.

"No idea."

"Why did she smile at you, then?"

"Just being friendly, I expect."

"Maybe she thought you were someone else."

"Maybe," said Bill, evasively, taking a very long draught of his beer. "So, listen, about school…"

Ron sighed, and Bill laughed out loud. "Am I the hundredth person to talk to you about this?"

"No," said Ron in a tone that suggested the opposite answer was true. "I'm just trying to pretend it's not happening, that's all."

"Well, that seems reasonable. How about I tell you this stuff anyway, and then in the unlikely event it _does_ happen, you'll know anyway, how's that?"

Ron just shrugged. "Suppose."

"OK, well; number one piece of advice: if you get into trouble, or if someone gives you a hard time, whatever you do, don't go running to Percy."

"Because he's busy with his exams?"

"No, because he'll go to the teachers, and that'll only make things worse."

Ron considered this for a moment with a frown. "Does that happen a lot?"

"What?"

"People giving you a hard time."

_"No," _said Bill firmly. He glanced sharply at his brother. "Is that what you're worried about?"

"No," said Ron, not entirely convincingly.

"It's okay to be scared, you know."

"I'm not scared!" said Ron, hotly.

"Well, you're a braver man than me then, because I was _terrified_."

Ron stared at him in disbelief. "But… you're not scared of _anything!_ You're a _curse-breaker!"_

Bill laughed out loud. "Grown-ups still get scared, Ronnie. They just have different stuff they get scared about, that's all. When I was your age I was terrified that I'd go off to school and you'd all forget me. I even ran away once."

Ron gaped at him. "You ran away? Where did you go?"

A shrug. "Nowhere. Where could I go? I went and hid in the long grass in the field for about three hours until I got hungry, then I went home again."

"And nobody even noticed you'd gone?"

"Oh, they noticed alright. Mum was _furious_. She had a two week old baby, an eighteen month old, three year old twins and three other kids to look after. She really didn't need me pulling a disappearing act."

They were both silent for a minute. "What it was like?" Ron asked finally. "At school, I mean? Was it better than you thought it was going to be?"

"Honestly?"

Ron nodded.

"It was awful. I _hated_ it."

Ron's stared at him fearfully. _"Why?"_

"Well… because you lot were still at home, having fun, driving Mum round the bend, and I was three hundred miles away on my own and missing you all like crazy. I was horribly, _horribly_ homesick for the first few months. I missed you all _so_ much. And then I came home for Christmas and realised I missed my new friends and couldn't wait to go back and see them again. I was fine after that. It's hard for the first few weeks or months, but you do get over it. You will too," he added, with a sideways glance at Ron. "Remember, I didn't have any big brothers there to keep an eye out for me like you will."

"That's not necessarily a good thing when they're Fred and George," retorted Ron.

Bill chuckled. "Well, alright, but you know they'd be there for you if you really needed them, don't you? If you ever wanted someone hexed in an unusual manner, for instance…"

They both laughed.

"Listen, don't let Fred and George boss you around. They'll get away with murder if you let them. And remember that you're your own person. You don't have to do something - or not do it - just because someone else does. You're not Fred or George or Percy or me or Charlie. I was lucky really; I didn't have any footsteps to follow in. I had a lot of freedom. Don't worry about what someone else did or didn't do before you."

Ron thought that was easy for him to say. "Okay," he shrugged.

"You know," said Bill, glancing wistfully at his younger brother, "I always felt I missed out on a lot, going off to school at eleven."

"Did you?" asked Ron, surprised. "Why?"

"Well, I missed out on a lot of your growing up, for a start. You and Ginny were only babies when I left, so I never really had a chance to get to know you properly like I did with the others. Every time I came home for the holidays I'd hardly recognise you, you'd changed so much. I mean, I was here, what, a year ago? And since then you seem to have grown about three foot!"

They both laughed.

"I'm nearly as tall as the twins already!" said Ron gleefully.

"I noticed," said Bill wryly. "You'll be as tall as me by the time you're eighteen, I reckon."

"Cool!"

Bill laughed. "That depends if you plan on ever finding shoes to fit your _massive_ feet. There's a little old bloke in Cairo who makes all of mine, but I spent my entire teens having to put stretching spells on all my shoes 'cos I wore through them so quickly."

Ron stuck out his foot and compared it to Bill's huge and very dusty and battered hobnail boot. They both laughed, then Bill sighed and shook his head.

"And now you're going off to school, and you're going to have all these great new experiences and change so much, and I'm gonna miss it all. _Again_."

"I'll write to you," said Ron at once.

Bill shook his head. "No, you won't. That's what I promised Charlie when I left and I never did. Well, maybe a couple of times. Actually, I probably wrote him more letters than he wrote me, the little sod."

"He wrote _me_ a letter too!" exclaimed Ron, excitedly. "From Romania! Do you want to see it?"

Bill shook his head. "It's your letter."

"I don't mind."

"I know you don't, and thanks, but no. You should have some things that are just yours." He checked his watch. "Have you finished your ice-cream?"

"Yeah."

"Let's get off home, then. Mum'll have my bollocks if we're late for dinner."

Ron giggled, and a small smile appeared on Bill's face.

"And if you repeat that in front of her, I'll have yours, alright?"

"Alright," Ron agreed. "Like I would, anyway."

"Come on, then."

Ron did not move. "Bill…?"

"What?"

"Can we do spinnies? You know, like we used to?"

"Bit old for that now, aren't you?"

"Oh, _go_ on. It might be the last chance you get to do it."

"You're not wrong there. The speed you're growing I'll probably put my back out. Or knock your head off."

_"Pleeease, _Bill!"

"You'll be sick. You've just had an ice-cream."

"I won't."

"You will."

"I _won't! _I promise!"

Bill gave an exaggerated sigh, and climbed to his feet. _"Come _on then," he said, in mock-weary tones, "Give me your ankles."

Ron quickly lay back on the grass before Bill could change his mind, and lifted his feet as high as he could. Bill grasped his ankles firmly and lifted his brother into the air, making sure his head was clear of the ground, and then started to spin, slowly at first, then picking up speed when he got into the right rhythm. Round and round Ron span, the sky and the grass and the houses a wild upside-down blur.

"If you puke over my shoes," shouted Bill over Ron's screams of delight, "You can lick them clean again, alright?"

_"Waaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" _replied Ron.

"Blimey, Ron, when did you get so heavy? … I should _not_ have agreed to do this on three hours sleep… okay, I _really_ need to stop now…"

"Noooooo! Don't stop!"

"Sorry, mate," puffed Bill, "You're too heavy, and I'm too knackered. Besides, _y__ou_ might be able to promise not to vomit, but I'm not sure _I_ can… brace yourself!"

They collapsed onto the grass and lay there on their backs for several minutes, coughing and laughing and trying to get their breath back.

A villager walking his dog across the green glared at them, and Ron gave him a cheerful wave.

"Lovely evening!"

Bill laughed out loud. "You know what, Ron?"

"What?"

"I think you're going to be just_ fine_…"

* * *

_Endnote:_

_Hope you enjoyed it, and please leave a review! _

_Next: Arthur_


	6. Chapter 6: Saturday: Arthur

_Author's Note:_

_Aaaand I'm back! Exciting news: 'He's Leaving Home' has been nominated in the "Best Depiction of Ron" category at the 2010-2011 RHr Awards on Livejournal (the best category, in my opinion). 'Six Foot of Ginger Idiot' has also been nominated in the "Classic Missing Moment" category. If you'd like to vote for either or both of these stories, you can do so by going to my Profile page (just click on my name above), where you will find all the details. Voting closes at midnight on Friday 25__th__ Feb 2011. Thank you!_

_I now return you to your scheduled chapter. _

_Pb, 9__th__ Feb 2011_

* * *

**Chapter Six: Saturday (Arthur)**

Arthur Weasley leant back in his chair, took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. He glanced at his watch, which was sitting propped up in front of him on the desk. Ten to midnight. Stifling a yawn, he sighed, pushed his glasses back up on his nose, and returned to his work. If he could just finish these reports tonight he would have the whole of Sunday free to spend with his children. Not for the first time, he wondered if the Muggle way of sending your children to a local school so you could see them every day wasn't a better, certainly more _civilised_ idea. Sending them away for months at a time was hard. Harder on the parents than the children, most likely. Waving your kids off on the station platform and pretending you wouldn't give everything you owned to have them come back home with you instead. This was the fifth time he'd had to do it, and it never got any easier.

He checked the teapot was still warm, and poured out half a cup of tea, just to get him through this last half an hour. These reports wouldn't write themselves.

A few minutes later movement in the doorway made the candle gutter and throw shadows across the page.

"I'll be up in a minute, Molly dear," he murmured, without looking up. "I just want to finish these reports."

"Dad?"

Arthur glanced up. His youngest son was standing in the doorway, barefoot and clad in his too-short maroon pyjamas. He looked upset about something.

"Hello, Ronnie. _Ron_," he corrected himself at once. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"Can't sleep," mumbled Ron.

Arthur bit back a smile of relief. "Oh dear. Why can't you sleep?"

Ron gave the tiniest of shrugs. "Dunno."

Arthur surveyed his son for a moment, then closed his report and patted the sofa alongside his desk. "Well, you'd better come and sit down then, hadn't you?"

Ron hesitated, and then walked across and clambered onto the sofa, hugging his knees tightly to his chest.

"Did you have a bad dream?" asked Arthur, gently.

"No!" retorted Ron, highly offended by the suggestion. "I'm too old for that now."

Arthur gave a faint smile. You were never too old for bad dreams. He hoped Ronnie never found that out.

"You're probably just over-tired," he said aloud. "It's been a busy week, hasn't it? Lots to think about."

Ron just nodded. He looked as though he wanted to say something so his father merely waited patiently for him to speak. Minutes passed. Arthur pretended to be busy working while he waited for Ron to pluck up the courage.

"Was there something you wanted to ask me?" he prompted eventually.

Ron shook his head. "Naw."

"What made you come all the way downstairs, then? How did you know I was up?"

A shrug. "You're always up."

Arthur felt a stab of guilt pierce his chest. It was true. He _was_ always up, working late into the night while the family slept. When you were the sole breadwinner for a family of nine - well, seven now - there was simply no alternative. He had to take all the overtime he could get, even if it meant that boring things like reports ended up being written in his own time, and sleep came at the bottom of a very long list of priorities. He heaved a sigh and took a gulp of his now lukewarm tea.

"What's that you're drinking?" asked Ron hopefully. "Cocoa?"

Arthur shook his head. "Tea."

"Oh," said Ron, clearly disappointed.

"Would you like a cup? Maybe a hot drink will help you sleep."

Ron did not sound convinced. "Ummm… okaaay..."

Arthur _Accio_'d a cup from the kitchen, poured out half a cup of tea and a little milk, then passed it carefully to his son.

Ron took a tiny, tentative sip, then looked up at his father. "It doesn't taste of anything."

Arthur smiled. "You don't have to drink it if you don't like it. I won't mind."

"No, it's okay," said Ron, taking another small sip.

"Maybe you'd like it better with a little sugar," suggested Arthur. He reached across and stirred half a spoon of sugar into Ronnie's cup.

"How's that?"

Ron tasted it. "Better," he nodded.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Arthur drawn back into his report and Ron sipping his hot sweet tea. Finally he let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

_"Go _on, then."

Arthur glanced up, amused. "Go on what?"

Ron hesitated, unsure. "Well... aren't you going to give me a load of advice?"

"About what?"

"School."

"Do you _want_ my advice?"

Ron shrugged. "Everyone else seems to think I do."

"Well, then, I expect you've had quite enough advice to be going along with, haven't you?

Ron laughed. "A bit," he admitted.

Arthur laughed too. "Fine," he said. "I won't give you any advice. But I do want you to do something for me."

"What?" asked Ron, warily.

"I want you to be nice to your sister, because it's the last time you'll see each other until Christmas -"

_"Me?" _exclaimed Ron, firing up. "_Me_ be nice to _her? _She's the one who keeps hiding my stuff!" He shook his head in outraged disbelief. "This is _so_ unfair. She gets away with everything, and I _always_ get the blame!"

"That's not true -"

"Why have I got to be nice to her? She's not being nice to me!"

"And why do you think that is?"

"I don't know!" wailed Ron. "Because she _hates_ me?"

"She doesn't _hate_ you," explained Arthur patiently. "She's just a bit upset."

"About what?"

"You tell me."

Ron thought for a moment. "Well," he said seriously, "I _think_ it's because I'm going to Hogwarts on Monday. But I don't know why she should get all upset with _me_ about it. I mean, it's not _my_ fault I'm going off to school, is it?"

"No..."

"I don't even want to bloody _go!" _

"Don't you?" asked Arthur, softly.

Ron looked rather as though he had been caught out in a lie. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I dunno. Anyway," he added, neatly changing the subject again, "Ginny's sulking with me for something that's not even my fault, and that's not fair, is it?"

"Well, it probably doesn't seem very fair to Ginny either."

"What do you mean?"

"Well… just because she's the youngest she has to watch all her big brothers go off to school without her. And now you're leaving too, and she'll be stuck here on her own all day with only Mum for company and no-one to play with."

"That's not my fault," said Ron, doggedly.

"I didn't say it was. I'm just saying; she'll miss you, that's all. You're not just her brother, you're her _friend _too."

"So why's she sulking with me?"

"Well… maybe she thinks that if she _pretends_ she's not going to miss you, it'll make it easier when you leave."

"Well, that's just stupid!"

"Is it?"

Ron opened his mouth and closed it again.

"She really will miss you, you know. How would you like it stuck here on your own with nobody else to play with?"

"I'm _eleven," _said Ron, scornfully. _"_I don't _play_."

"Okay, well… since you're so grown-up, why don't you act like one and make the first move?"

Ron blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You'll miss her too, won't you?"

"Ye-ah…" admitted Ron, grudgingly.

"So tell her that."

"She knows anyway."

"Does she? Or does she think you're far too busy getting prepared for your big adventure and haven't given her a second thought?"

"That's not true!" protested Ron, indignantly.

"Isn't it?"

Ron frowned. "Well, I didn't _mean_ to. I've got a lot to worry about as well, you know. Anyway, at least she's got you and Mum. I'm gonna be on my own."

"No, you're not. You've got three brothers looking out for you..."

_"Hah!"_

"...And if you really hate it, you can always come home. I'm sure your mother will be only too happy to have you back."

Ron looked appalled. "I can't come _home! _That would be really pathetic!"

Arthur smiled to himself. "Well, then, you'll just have to get on with it, won't you?"

Ron was silent for a few moments. He had a funny feeling he had just been tricked into something, but he wasn't entirely sure what. He took another gulp of tea and pulled a face. He had no idea why grown-ups drank so much of the stuff. It really did taste like dishwater.

His father caught sight of the time and frowned. Twenty past midnight. He really should send Ron up to bed, but chances to spend quality time with his son were going to be thin on the ground from now on. It wasn't just Ginny who hated to see her brothers leave.

"So you're not looking forward to going to school then?" he asked Ron carefully.

A shrug. "Yeah. I dunno. I've never been to school before, have I? I dunno what it's gonna be like."

"Maybe you'll really like it."

"Yeah," said Ron, doubtfully. "Maybe." He gnawed at his fingernails for a moment, then looked up at his father. "Did _you_ like school?"

Arthur gave a wry chuckle. "Most of the time."

Ron raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"I was very, very shy when I was your age," Arthur explained. "I wasn't very good at talking to new people, so I spent a lot of those first few weeks at school on my own. But then another boy joined my class - he'd been ill and started school a month late - and we became really good friends. We bonded over a shared love of The White Tower series. Do you know them?"

Ron shook his head.

"Oh, they're great. They're a series of fantasy books about goblins. When I was twelve-thirteen I practically _lived_ in those books. My best friend Stanley and I could talk about them for _hours_. There were even cards you could collect and swap, just like Chocolate Frog cards now. I had _thousands_ of them, kept in a shoe box under the bed."

"Have you still got them?" asked Ron eagerly. "I bet they'd be worth a _fortune_ now!"

"'Fraid not. I sold them a few years later so I could take your mother out to dinner on her birthday."

"So you haven't even got anything to show for it?"

The corners of Arthur's mouth twitched slightly. "Well, _yes_, actually… Charlie. Drink your tea," he added hurriedly, before Ron could work out what that meant.

Ron dutifully sipped his tea and stared down into his cup with a slight frown.

"Did you always know you were going to be in Gryffindor?"

"Not at all. Nobody knows for sure until they get there. Actually, I was convinced I was going to be in Hufflepuff."

"Where all the duffers are," murmured Ron.

_"No," _said Arthur, firmly. "That's just a rather unkind thing the other Houses say about them. You could do a lot worse than be in Hufflepuff, you know. Some of the nicest, kindest, _best_ people you'll ever meet are in Hufflepuff."

"You think that's where they'll put me?" asked Ron, alarmed.

"No, I think you'll be in Gryffindor, like your brothers. But even if you weren't… would it really be the end of the world?"

_"Yes," _thought Ron, but he merely shrugged.

Arthur's attention drifted back to the report in front of him. If he didn't finish this tonight, he would have to set his alarm for early tomorrow morning instead. It was going to be a very busy day and there was no way he would be able to concentrate on writing reports with five over-excited children and a highly-stressed wife in the house. Molly had been up 'til half past ten frantically baking for tomorrow night's leaving feast. She would probably still be in the kitchen now if he hadn't made her go to bed.

"Before I forget," he said aloud, "Promise me you'll write to your mother. She worries."

Ron rolled his eyes. "What if I've got nothing to say?" he asked, testily.

"I'm sure you can think of something. She just wants to know you're alright, that's all. It's not too much to ask, is it? One little letter?"

"No-oo..."

"She'll be a big crying mess at that station, you know."

Ron made a face.

"She's not the only one," mumbled Arthur. Aloud he said, "Give her a break, Ron. She feels like she's losing everyone. Bill's in Egypt, Charlie's gone to Romania… now her youngest boy's leaving home too. She's only got Ginny left, and once she leaves, she'll be on her own in a big empty house all day. She's never been alone in this house before. We moved in three weeks before Bill was born, and I don't think we've had a moment's peace since. I can't even remember what silence sounds like."

"Tell me about it," muttered Ron.

Arthur chuckled. "Well, I hope you're not expecting to get any peace and quiet at Hogwarts."

"Percy goes to the library on Saturday mornings," Ron told him, eyes wide with disbelief. _"Saturday mornings!" _

"So did I," admitted his father, with a wry smile. "Although I wasn't doing homework. I used to take a book to read and stay there for hours, until it was time for dinner. You're not supposed to take food into the library," he explained. "Although I did occasionally manage to smuggle in the odd biscuit. And some sausage rolls once, now I remember..."

"Da-ad!" giggled Ron. "Were you really naughty at school, then?"

Arthur shook his head. "'Afraid not. Mostly I was a good student. Well, not _good_, exactly. I was never the most academic of boys. But I worked hard, kept my head down, did my homework on time, that sort of thing."

"Did you ever get put in detention?"

"No, never. _Oh! _Actually, no, I tell a lie. Once. Your mother and I were caught out of bounds after hours. Not what you think," he added hastily, as his son assumed an expression of utter revulsion. "We went for a walk after dinner and lost track of time, that was all. By the time we got back to the castle it was all locked up. Your mother was a year younger than me, so I got an absolute _blasting_ from the Headmaster and a week's worth of detentions on top of that."

Ron gaped at him in barely disguised awe. "Cool!"

Arthur laughed out loud. "Yes, I suppose it was. Probably the coolest I've ever been in my life, in fact. For about two weeks afterwards people actually knew my name. Molly and I were teased mercilessly about it, as you can imagine."

"So Mum was in detention as well?"

"No, she was not! I got all the blame, when actually, now that I think about it, it was her blimmin' idea to go for a walk in the first place!"

They both laughed. "I can't believe that was twenty-five years ago," sighed Arthur, shaking his head. "I don't know where the time goes, I really don't. _Twenty-five years_..."

He took off his glasses and polished them distractedly, lost for a moment in memories.

While his father's concentration was elsewhere, Ron quickly heaped another teaspoon of sugar into his tea, and then, just to be on the safe side, a third spoonful as well. Sugar definitely helped. The taste sort of grew on you after a while. He liked the feeling of the cup warming his hands, and it did seem to make him feel calmer somehow. _Sleepy_… His eyelids started to droop and his father shot him a reproachful look.

"I think we should get you up to bed, don't you?"

"Can't I sleep down here?"

Arthur shook his head. "You'll sleep much better in your own bed."

"I'll be fine here," insisted Ron. He curled up on his side and closed his eyes tightly.

Arthur got to his feet and attempted to scoop his son off the sofa, but Ronnie wasn't budging.

"Come on, son," he sighed. "You can't stay down here all night."

"Why not?" demanded Ron, forgetting he was supposed to be asleep.

"I'm not _asking_ you, Ron," said Arthur, sternly.

_"No!"_

"Come on, don't be silly -"

"Get off!"

"Ron -"

"There's a spider on my ceiling!" Ron suddenly blurted out, his eyes wide with horror. "It's right above my bed!"

Arthur had to struggle very hard not to smile. "Is it a big one?" he asked, gravely.

"Yeah, it's huge, and it's got a great big hairy body and I can hear it moving about!"

"Well, we'd better get rid of it, then, hadn't we?"

Ron nodded fearfully. He waited nervously while his father blew out the candle and lit his wand to light the way up the stairs to his bedroom on the top floor.

"Are there lots of spiders in Scotland?" asked Ron, as they climbed the stairs.

_"No," _said Arthur firmly, although he knew full well that Hogwarts castle, with its dusty old stone corridors and many dark, dank corners, was a paradise for spiders. He had hoped Ronnie might have grown out of his spider phobia by now, but it seemed not.

"They don't like the cold," he reassured his son.

"Good," said Ron, greatly relieved. "In that case, when I grow up, I'm moving to Sweden. Somewhere really cold where there aren't any spiders, anyway. Bill says they have so much snow they have to paint the rooves red so they can find their houses. Can you imagine having that much snow? I can't. I'd rather live somewhere cold than somewhere hot, though. Bill says in Egypt it's forty degrees every day. Forty degrees! That's like… like _August_, every day of the year! Bill says -"

Arthur let him ramble on, knowing he was nervous about his impending encounter with the spider. Once they reached Ron's bedroom, however, the creature was nowhere to be seen. They searched for it for several long minutes, and Arthur might have given up, but he was quite sure that Ron would lie awake in terror all night if they didn't find it.

_"There it is!" _

"Where?"

"On the wall! There! _There!"_

"Oh, yes, I see it."

_"Kill it!" _blurted Ron, who was hopping from one foot to the other in a state of high anxiety.

"I'm not going to kill it, Ron. It hasn't done us any harm. I'll put it outside."

"It'll get back in!"

"Well, then, I'll close the window," said Arthur, exhaustion fraying his patience. He pulled out his wand and Stunned the spider, then picked it up carefully in the palm of his hand and dropped it neatly out of the window.

"There," he said, turning back to Ron. "It's gone. Now, I think it's high time you were in bed, don't you?"

Ron stifled a yawn, suddenly very tired indeed. He climbed into bed and allowed his father to plump up his pillow and tuck in the blankets.

"Night, Dad," he mumbled, fuzzily.

"Night, son."

Ron muttered something mostly incomprehensible, but that might have included the word _spider_, and his father suppressed a smile.

"Sleep tight."

Arthur Weasley continued to sit by his son's bedside for some time. He was painfully aware that this was probably the last time he would be able to do this. Maybe forever.

_"She's not the only one,"_ he whispered.

He bent down and kissed his son's hair, then got to his feet with a weary sigh and slipped silently from the room. Those reports wouldn't write themselves.

* * *

_Endnote:_

_Hope you liked it and please leave a review if you can. Cheers!_

_Pb x_

_Next: Ginny_


	7. Chapter 7: Sunday: Ginny

**Chapter Seven: Sunday (Ginny)**

Ron awoke with a start from a lovely dream where he had just scored the winning goal in the League Cup Final, taking the Cannons to their first ever Cup victory, to find Fred and George about to sit on him. He struggled to free himself, but they were too heavy.

"Get off!" he managed to croak out. "Get off me!"

"Well, get up then, lazy bones!"

"I _can't!" _he bellowed furiously. "You're _sitting_ on me!"

The twins just laughed.

"Mum says we can't start breakfast without her special ickle baby there, so get a move on, 'cos we're _starving_."

"Yeah, c'mon Ronnie," chuckled George, ripping the quilt unceremoniously from Ron's body. "Hurry up!"

"Tell you what; we'll give you a hand..."

One of the twins pulled Ron's pyjama top halfway over his head, while the other yanked his trousers down to his knees, cackling evilly as they did so.

"Get off!" gasped Ron, struggling to free himself from his own pyjamas. "Get off me, you… bloody bastards!"

Fred and George laughed, but they jumped to their feet and made for the door.

"Better hurry up, Ronniekins."

"Yeah, 'cos if our bacon's gone cold we won't be happy."

"Piss off!" blurted Ron, crimson-faced with humiliation.

"There's gratitude for you, Fred."

"I know, and we were only trying to help."

"Yeah, we just wanted to help improve your timekeeping..."

"'Cos if you're late for lessons at Hogwarts, you'll have to face a lot worse than us, we can promise you that."

"Or even worse, late for the _Sorting_ ceremony…"

"Yeah," added Fred solemnly, closing the door carefully behind him but making quite sure that Ron could still hear, "I mean... that troll won't wrestle itself…"

Ron rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with an undignified thump, hurriedly pulled his pyjama trousers back up, and then belatedly realised what his brother had said.

"Wait... _what?"_

* * *

Entering the kitchen to ironic cheers a few minutes later, he stuck two fingers up at the nearest twin, and slumped into the empty seat between Percy and Ginny. Percy had his nose buried in a book as usual, and Ginny just ignored him.

"About time!" exclaimed his mother, bustling into the room with a jug of pumpkin juice. "Now we can start breakfast!"

"Well, I didn't _ask_ everyone to wait for me," muttered Ron.

"Don't answer back to your mother," said his father mildly, without looking up from his Sunday paper.

His mum put a glass in front of Ron and began to pour out the pumpkin juice, but he threw out a hand to stop her.

"Can I have tea?"

She hesitated. "You don't want pumpkin juice?"

Ron shook his head. "I'd rather have tea."

"But you _always_ have pumpkin juice!"

Ron bit his lip uncertainly. The usual answer to "Can I have…?" in this house was a resounding "no", so he had become used to not asking for things. But it was only a cup of tea, and the pot was already full, and glancing around the table he could see that everyone _else_ was drinking tea...

_"Please?" _he added, hopefully.

Molly chuckled as though indulging a childish whim. "Of course you can have tea," she beamed, patting him on the head. Ron cringed away from her touch.

"Looks like it's just you, then, Ginny," she said cheerfully, pushing the glass of pumpkin juice over to her daughter instead.

Ginny looked furious, but Ron ignored her. She spent most of her time glaring at him these days. Today was obviously going to be no different. He reached across for the teapot and began carefully pouring himself a cup of tea. Milk, then one large heaped spoonful of sugar. He stirred it in, then became aware of his sister still watching him and started deliberately scraping the spoon against the side of the cup just to annoy her. Round and round, faster and faster, _scrape, scrape, scrape_...

"Stop that!" said his mother sharply, "I don't want people at Hogwarts thinking I've raised a child with no manners!"

"Sorry," mumbled Ron, flushing slightly. He put the spoon down and sipped his tea slowly. It could really do with another spoonful, but he didn't dare raise the ire of his mother. Ginny shot him a triumphant look, obviously delighted to see him get a telling-off. He stuck his tongue out at her, and her smile vanished. She turned her back on him again, but Ron merely shrugged and reached for the toast. It was his last day. He would not let Ginny ruin it.

* * *

After breakfast, Molly made him wash up the pile of breakfast things, despite his protests ("But it's my last day!" "Exactly, and you won't have to do any washing up for the next four months, so I don't think it's too much to ask, do you?"). He made sure everyone knew he was only doing it under duress, making as much noise and mess as he could, and muttering loudly about how unfair it all was. No-one seemed to care that it was his last day. Everyone was being just as annoying as they usually were. At this rate he would be _glad _to go off to school.

Of course, taking it out on the china didn't help much, especially when he broke a cup and then cut his hand on the sharp edge, and had to call his mum to come and mend both cup and hand, like a little kid. Humiliated and irritable, he finally finished the washing up and wandered into the front room to find Ginny curled up on the sofa, reading a book. As soon as she saw him enter she snapped her book shut, jumped hurriedly to her feet and, chin held haughtily high, made to leave the room again. Ron felt a surge of anger rise in his chest.

"Where are my shoes?" he demanded, blocking the doorway with his arm.

"How should I know?"

"Where are they?"

Ginny gave an insolent little shrug. "Have you looked under your bed?"

He grabbed her arm and twisted it up her back until she cried out.

_"Tell me where they are!"_

Ginny kicked him as hard as she could in the shin, and he yelped in pain and let go.

"I threw them in the pond!" she bellowed, quite red in the face.

He stared at her in appalled disbelief. "You didn't!"

"I did!" she told him proudly.

"Why did you do that?" he wailed. "They're my only good pair!"

She gave a tinkling little laugh, which only enraged him more.

"Well, that's your problem, isn't it?"

"Mum'll go _mental, _you know. Shoes are really expensive, and it's too late to get me some new ones."

Ginny made another attempt to get past him, but he wasn't moving.

"Let me past."

"No."

_"Let me past!"_

Ron held firm in the doorway.

"I'll tell Mum."

"Fine, tell her. And I'll tell her you threw my only good pair of shoes in the pond, and _then_ we'll see who's in trouble."

Ginny's eyes instantly filled with tears. _"I hate you!"_ she shrieked.

"Fine," retorted Ron. "What do I care? I'm going to Hogwarts tomorrow anyway!"

"Fine! Go, then!"

"I _am_ going!"

"So go!"

She pushed him in the shoulder and he shoved her back harder. They glared at each other for a moment, breathing heavily, impasse having been reached, then:

"_Mu-um!_ Ron won't let me leave the room!"

_"Mu-um!" _he mimicked, "Ginny says she threw my shoes in the pond!"

_"_Ron just tried to break my arm!"

"Oh, you _liar!"_

"He did! He twisted my arm up my back!"

"Well, she kicked me! _Ow! _She just kicked me again!"

By the time Molly came running into the room a few moments later they were locked in a violent tussle, lashing out with nails and knees and elbows.

"I'm _glad_ you're leaving!" Ginny shouted, as her mother prised her fingernails from her brother's scalp. "I hope you never come back!"

"Fine by me!" Ron yelled back, still trying to hit any part of her body he could reach. "If I never see you again, it'll be too soon!"

_"Stop it!" _bellowed their mother. "Stop it at once! What's _wrong_ with you?"

"She threw my shoes in the pond!"

"Don't be silly, Ronald, why would Ginny throw your sh-"

"She _did!" _he shouted, almost incandescent with fury. "Ask her! Go on, ask her!"

Molly let out a weary sigh. "_Fine. _Ginerva, did you throw your brother's shoes in the pond?"

Ginny met her brother's eye for a moment, then rearranged her expression into one of butter-wouldn't-melt innocence and turned back to their mother.

"No."

_"What?" _shouted Ron, indignantly. "No! She's lying!"

Molly gripped him firmly by the shoulders and pushed him towards the door. "Go to your room, please, Ronald. I won't have you fighting."

"It's my last day!" protested Ron.

"You should have thought of that before you started fighting, shouldn't you?"

"No!" he protested, twisting out of her grasp. "She told me she threw them in the pond! This is so _unfair!"_

"Life isn't fair," said Molly crisply, "And you can rest assured your sister won't go unpunished. Ginny, you will wait two minutes, then you will go to your room too."

"What?" piped up Ginny, outraged. "But _he_ hit _me!"_

"Ha ha," said Ron, in a mocking, sing-song voice. Ginny lunged at him, eyes blazing, but Molly stepped firmly between them.

"Go!" she ordered him. _"Now!"_

Ron gave what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug and turned to leave, but at the last moment he threw out an arm and deliberately swept all of Ginny's 10th birthday cards off the mantelpiece. His mother's angry protests ringing in his ears, he made his exit. No, he wasn't going to come back, and he wasn't going to pick them up either. He didn't care if he had to stay in his room all day. The whole day was ruined anyway, thanks to Ginny. _Everything_ was ruined.

He went up to his room and aimed a vicious kick at his school trunk. It hurt like mad, and he hopped over to the bed clutching his foot and swearing loudly, then collapsed onto it and screamed into the pillow. It seemed as though everyone in his entire family had got together and decided to make his last day as rubbish as possible. Well, he was _glad_ he was leaving if Ginny was going to be such a cow all the time.

Why was she so determined to ruin his last day? Why couldn't she just let him enjoy it in peace without throwing some big hissy fit? Why did it always have to be about _her?_ Why couldn't she let him be the centre of attention for once? It was his _last day! _She always got away with it because she was the smallest, and a girl, and he always got the blame for _everything_. It was so unfair!

* * *

He didn't see his sister for the rest of the day. She didn't come down for lunch, their mother announcing that "Ginny isn't feeling very well", and shooting him a pointed glare, as though it was somehow his fault.

"Sulking more like," he muttered, and received a well-aimed smack to the side of the head for his trouble.

In the late afternoon, wanting to be alone but fed up of staring at the four walls of his bedroom, he took Scabbers and headed for his favourite spot at the end of the garden, by the pond. It was surrounded by tall grass and couldn't be seen from the house. Rounding the rhododendron bushes, he pulled up short. Ginny was sitting there on the grass with her knees pulled up to her chest, crying silently. He stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. She hadn't heard him approach, so he could probably slip quietly away again without her ever knowing he was there. She probably came here to have a good cry in peace where no-one could see her. _He_ wouldn't want anyone else to know if he'd been crying.

Ginny gave another anguished sob, and he sighed to himself, crossed the grass, and sat down beside her.

"_Go away!"_ wailed Ginny, without looking up.

Ron sat and waited patiently, tickling Scabbers behind the ear while he waited, and after a while Ginny's sobs quietened and finally ceased. She reached for a tissue then remembered she was wearing a skirt with no pockets. Ron automatically checked his own pockets, and then offered his arm to her.

"You can use my sleeve if you want."

She laughed, and gave a tearful sniff, and they exchanged rather sheepish, awkward little smiles.

"I'm sorry I ruined your last day."

"That's alright. You didn't really."

She nodded, and they fell back into silence, neither knowing what to say next.

"I don't even want to go," Ron said suddenly.

She looked up, surprised. "Don't you?"

He shook his head.

"Are you scared?"

"No!" he retorted at once, then shrugged. "A bit," he admitted.

"I would be," she said forcefully, and he felt a bit better somehow.

"Would you?"

"Yeah. I mean, I've never been away from home before."

"Me neither," said Ron, seriously. "It's going to be weird."

"You'll have to share a room again."

"Yeah." He was starting to get that tight knot in his stomach again. "It won't be the same without you there."

Ginny was silent for a moment. "At least you'll have Fred and George. I'll be all on my own with just _Mum_ for company."

"And Dad!"

"Not during the day, though."

"No," he conceded, "Not during the day."

"I'm gonna be _sooo_ bored."

"It's only four months. I'll be back at Christmas."

"Four months is ages away!"

"It'll go quickly though. And at least you'll have Mum and Dad. I won't see them for ages."

"Will you miss them?"

A shrug. "Yeah."

"Will you miss me?"

"Course I will!"

"I won't miss _you_."

"Well, I won't miss you either."

She shoved him playfully and he shoved her back. They both laughed.

Ginny looked away, down at her feet. "I don't really hate you, you know."

"I know," he said, but he was glad to hear it. "I'll write to you," he told her, earnestly, "Every week."

"You won't. You'll make loads of new friends and forget all about me."

"I won't!"

"You will," mumbled Ginny. She sounded on the verge of tears again.

"You'll always be my _best_ friend, Gin."

Ginny yanked a fistful of grass from the ground and said nothing.

Ron didn't know what else to say. Nothing he said or did seemed to cheer her up. He stroked Scabbers' sun-warmed fur, and the animal gave a little wriggle of pleasure. Well, maybe there was _one_ thing he could do...

"Here," he said quickly, holding out Scabbers to her before he could change his mind, "You have him."

Ginny's eyes grew wide. "You mean it?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't, would I?" he retorted, rather testily.

She took the sleeping animal gingerly from his hands, half-excited, half-fearful.

"Hello Scabbers, she whispered, pressing the rat's fur against her cheek. "He's all soft and warm!" she exclaimed, looking up at her brother in wonder.

Ron forced a weak smile. Even though he'd only had Scabbers less than a week he felt oddly bereft without him. The rat had gone everywhere with him these past few days and he had grown used to the reassuring presence of the warm soft ball of fur in his chest pocket, the rhythm of the rat's tiny heartbeart an inch away from his own.

"Are you sure?" asked Ginny, hardly daring believe it.

"'Course," said Ron, bracingly. "I mean, I'll have Fred and George and Percy, won't I? You'll be all on your own."

He watched her stroking Scabbers, who seemed quite happy with his new owner. _Traitor_, he thought bitterly, then quickly pushed the thought from his mind.

"No," said Ginny, with sudden decisiveness. "No, Percy gave him to you. You should have him."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's _rude_ to give away something you've been given as a present, isn't it? Percy will be offended."

"Yeah," agreed Ron, trying not to sound too pleased. "I hadn't thought about that."

"And you'll have Percy there if you need any advice. I mean; what if Scabbers gets sick or something? I won't know what to do."

"Yeah," nodded Ron eagerly, "Yeah, I see what you mean. Maybe Scabbers _should_ come with me to Hogwarts after all..."

Ginny handed Scabbers back to him and he hurriedly put the rat safely in his top pocket before she could change her mind again.

"Anyway," Ginny went on brightly, "Now you lot aren't here eating all the food, maybe Mum and Dad will buy me a rabbit!"

"Yeah," said Ron, heartily, although it seemed unlikely, "Maybe."

"I mean, they can't be _that_ expensive... they only eat potato and carrot peelings, don't they?"

Ron just nodded. He hated to disappoint her, but the chances of her getting a rabbit were slim to non-existent.

"_Well_… they need straw for their bedding as well. And a bowl for their water. And you need some sort of reinforced fence or they burrow out and escape. Oh, and a hutch, of course. You don't want foxes getting in."

"Oh," said Ginny, pulling a face. "I hadn't thought about that."

"Maybe you could get Dad to make you one," he suggested. "He's got lots of old bits of wood in the shed."

Ginny shook her head. "Dad's really busy," she said flatly.

Ron didn't know what to say. He could _insist_ she take Scabbers, but he really didn't want to part with him, even more so now that he'd nearly lost him once.

"Maybe I'll just get a goldfish," she said, perking up again. "What do they eat?"

Ron thought for a moment. "Pond weed?" he suggested.

Their gazes both drifted automatically to the weed-choked pond in front of them. "Well, we've got plenty of that."

They both laughed. Feeling much happier, Ron lay back on the grass and let out a long sigh of bliss. After a few moments' hesitation, Ginny followed.

They gazed up at the blue sky and clouds scudding overhead in sleepy silence for several minutes.

"It's hot, isn't it?" murmured Ginny.

"Yeah, it's hot."

"Have you done all your packing?"

"Yeah. Mum's been nagging me to do it all holiday. Everything's packed now." He turned his head and shot her a pointed look. "Except my _shoes_, of course…"

Ginny looked suitably embarrassed.

"Did you _really_ throw them in the pond?"

She giggled, but shook her head.

"Where are they, then?"

"In the bottom of my wardrobe."

"But I looked there!"

A shrug. "I kept moving them."

"Oh," said Ron, feeling rather stupid.

"Sorry."

He shrugged. "S'okay. I'm just glad I haven't got to go to school in my slippers."

They fell into silence again, but the awkwardness of earlier had gone now.

"Look!" he exclaimed, after a few minutes, "That cloud looks like a duck!"

"Which one?"

"That one. There."

Ginny squinted up into the sky. "It doesn't!"

"Well, it did a second ago. It moved."

They both laughed.

"You're silly!"

"_You_ are."

No, _you_ are."

Ron bent his arm across his face to shield his eyes from the sun's glare.

"Hey, do you remember that summer you found a snail that had dried up in the sun and decided to go around saving all the snails by pouring water on them? You went around carrying a cup of water with you for _weeks_, even when we went into Diagon Alley to get Fred and George's new schoolbooks!"

Ginny gave a rueful smile. "They wouldn't let me in the bookshop."

Ron giggled. "That's right! And Mum was really annoyed with you because you kept stopping in the street to water the snails and got left behind, and she kept turning around and finding you weren't there."

"I know; she was tearing her hair out."

"You didn't try to save the slugs though."

Ginny made a face. "I don't like slugs. Too slimy."

Ron gave a great snort of laughter. "Yeah, let the slugs die!"

She shoved him in the arm and they both laughed.

Ginny rolled over onto her front and plucked a daisy from the grass.

"Do you remember that time we went to Exeter, and we stopped to stroke a dog, and when we looked up we couldn't see Mum anywhere?"

Ron nodded. "Mum went mental."

"_You_ weren't scared, though."

"I was a _bit_," he admitted. "I just thought it would make it worse if we were both panicking."

"And we stood there for twenty minutes, and you held my hand, and if anyone asked where our Mum was, you told them she was just in that shop over there, and eventually she came back and found us. I was seven and you were nine."

Ron frowned. "What were we doing in Exeter?"

She shrugged. "I can't remember. Was there a fair or something?"

"Oh, yeah," he nodded. "It was the first time we had candy floss."

"Do you remember when Charlie brought that ferret home and he tried to hide it in his room, only it got out and weed on Mum's best tablecloth?"

Ron laughed out loud. "How could I forget?"

Ginny laughed too. "Mum was furious; she had to burn it in the end because she couldn't get the smell out."

"Remember when Dad took us to Ottery St Mary to watch the fireworks and we bumped into Bill on a date –"

"Yes! And he pretended not to know who we were!"

"– and we followed them 'round all evening shouting _"Bill!"_ and then hiding when he looked around!"

"And making puking noises every time he tried to kiss her!"

They both pulled identical expressions of disgust at the thought of kissing.

"Remember that time we all went to Auntie Muriel's for tea and Mum made us wear our best clothes, and Auntie Muriel made us all eat mushroom soup, even though Percy told her he _hates_ mushrooms, and he was sick on her cat?"

They were nearly unable to breathe for laughing now, rolling about on the grass and clutching at their sides in joyous pain.

Ginny recovered her composure first. "Do you remember that Christmas after Bill left, when Mum was ill, and we all helped making Christmas dinner and took it up to Mum and Dad's room and ate it sitting on their bed?"

"Yeah, and Mum kept fretting that we were going to spill gravy on the quilt."

And then we had custard without Christmas pudding because Charlie let the water boil dry and it went all hard, and Dad said it was the best custard he'd ever tasted."

Ron smiled. "It _was_ good custard."

"It was! Who doesn't like custard?"

"No-one," chuckled Ron.

"Didn't Dad get up early the next morning and go and buy another Christmas pudding so we could have it for breakfast?"

Ron's smile faded. The thought of Mum and Dad and not seeing them for four whole months caused a tight knot of pain to twist in his chest. For two years – since the twins left – it had just been him and Ginny and their parents, a perfect little family of four. He had got used to having more of his parents' attention, used to spending all of his time with Ginny, used to having his own room and occasionally even being able to snatch five minutes of peace and quiet without someone trying to jump on his head. This time tomorrow he would be four hundred miles away at Hogwarts, and Mum and Dad and Ginny would be here, eating their dinner at the kitchen table without him.

Ginny reached over and patted the back of his hand. "You'll be alright, Ronnie."

Ron didn't have the heart to correct her use of the hated pet name.

"Mm," he said, without enthusiasm.

Ginny was silent for a few moments, watching him.

"Do you wanna go and put pondweed in Percy's bed and pretend Fred and George did it?"

Ron looked up, their eyes met, and wide grins spread across both their faces.

"Yeah," he nodded, starting to laugh already at the thought of it. "Yeah, I really, really do."

* * *

_Hope you liked it and please leave a review if you can. thank you!_

_In the next and final chapter: the day of Ron's departure is finally here and he's about to meet two people who will change his life forever. _

_Pb x_


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